


Bad Blood

by royalstandard



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Historical References, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 76,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalstandard/pseuds/royalstandard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>17th century France: Intent on acquiring more power in Europe in order to protect themselves from their murderous father, the Originals ingratiate themselves with French nobility. While Klaus focuses his attention on the French Queen Anne herself, Rebekah becomes enamored with one of the royal Musketeers. Meanwhile, Elijah arranges a marriage: an idea that backfires on him in a surprising way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (After reading the excerpt of "The Rise", the first book in the Originals' book series, and being woefully disappointed, I was inspired to write this fic.
> 
> Note: this is not intended to be historically accurate and is purely a work of fiction. Just go with it.)

"I'm bored. I want to leave."

"Do pretend to be interested in the event, Niklaus," Elijah genteelly ordered him, straightening his dress coat and drawing himself up to his full height. His brown eyes cut across the crowd, absorbing every detail in the room from the decadent chandelier consuming the ceiling down to the threadwork on every lady's gown. Raising his eyebrows slightly, he glanced somewhat patronizingly over his shoulder at his younger half-brother. "Our position within the nobility of France will engender our family with an amalgam of protection from our cannibalistic father," Elijah noted, his gloved hands dropping to his waist where he laced his fingers together and stood peacefully at the edge of the room. Elijah fit in perfectly with this sort of society, with his prim composure and his decorum leaking out of his pores.

Klaus, on the other hand, was quite capable of fitting in but had never seen much point. His strength exceeded these fragile humans a hundredfold, and he found no need to pretend to be one of them. Elijah had explained it several times over the centuries, but he still found it quite boring. He would fit in as much as he believed necessary, or entertaining, at the time. His dirty blond hair was half-pulled back and tied into a velvet band to keep it from his eyes, and his dark-colored apparel coupled with an exorbitantly expensive, laced shirt had been hand-picked by Elijah. Not that Klaus couldn't dress himself: that was yet another task which better suited his brother's taste.

Fiddling with the fluff of lace around his right wrist, Klaus cut his eyes to his sister who had already inserted herself into the crowd. Her blond curls bounced merrily, her blue eyes glittering with a mixture of glee and mischievousness as she was swept through the crowd by a particularly average nobleman whose name Klaus couldn't care to call to memory. His blue eyes narrowed, darkening as he watched through the dancers, his eyes seeing none of them around his sister.

Lifting his chin to motion toward their sister, he leaned conspiratorially closer to Elijah although the other man could easily hear him thanks to their heightened vampire senses. "Bekah seems to be enjoying herself with that sod," he commented, an edge of bitterness in his tone as he glared at the pair dancing near the center of the massive dancefloor. Elijah glanced over, catching sight of Rebekah after a moment, and smiled slightly.

"She certainly does," he agreed, ignoring Klaus's simmering beside him.

Drawing himself up, Klaus crossed his arms behind his back and raised one eyebrow. "I could eat him for sport," he growled, a dark smile curving his lips into a wolfish smirk.

"I've heard that before," Elijah countered with an entertained smile, his eyes scanning the crowd again, memorizing every detail. After a moment, he looked back at his brother. "Rebekah understands the importance of our position here."

Klaus breathed audibly out through his nose as he watched the dancing, not in the mood to join. He didn't need Elijah's coaching right now, or rather, he wasn't in the mood for it. He'd heard it a thousand times. They understood one another, and he understood his role as well as the rest of them, he simply wasn't in the mood to be spoken to like a child. Bored and irritable, he shifted his weight and looked around the room once more, narrowing his eyes as he intentionally ignored Rebekah and her dull dancing partner.

Curiosity and suspicion replaced the aggravation in his eyes as he didn't see their fourth companion. "Where is Kol?"

 

* * *

 

 

The girl's back slammed roughly into the ornate wall of the hallway, her raven curls capitulating from the pins struggling to hold them up as the force collapsed her topknot. Her dress was bunched up around her waist, the expensive fabric crumpling and crinkling as her fingers crushed it in pleasure. Her head arched backward and her chin thrust upward as she struggled to contain a euphoric moan.

" _Saperlipopette_!" she cried breathlessly, her voice bouncing then dying in the deserted hallway. Her dress rustled and shifted, releasing a tousled brown head of hair and the wolfish grin of none other than Kol Mikaelson.

"Enjoying yourself, darling?" he asked her, pushing himself smoothly up from his knees and grabbing her by her corseted waist, pulling her against him as she released the fabric of her dress and grasped his shoulders.

"Don't stop, _mon cher_ , please. Don't stop," she begged him, her hips writhing impatiently against his. Her hands slipped from his shoulders, quickly moving to his pants to unlace them. Her fingers slipped in her impatience, but he made it easier for her by arching his hips back so she could more easily reach, his mouth capturing hers as she worked.

He helped her release his pants and then hooked his hands beneath her thighs, hoisting her effortlessly up the wall as she wrapped her legs around him. Holding her weight with one hand and the pressure of his hips, he used his other hand to guide her hair out of the way, pushing her head toward her shoulder as she moaned delightedly into his ear.

The veins sprouted from his eyes, the pressure building up beneath his eyelashes, and his fangs slid out a moment before he sank his teeth into the tender skin of her neck. She gasped in a mixture of pain and passion, but she was caught up in his thrall and couldn't escape. The taste of her blood, hot and embued with the heady hormones released during sex, was as euphoric as the feeling of her body accepting his, and he viciously bit down harder. Her human body couldn't handle the concoction of sensations and she went over the edge, her fingers digging into his tunic as she orgasmed.

" _Qu'est ce que se passe_?!" exclaimed a distinctively male voice, his French accent strong with surprise and dismay.

Kol extracted his fangs from the girl's neck in a moment, straightening as he supported her against the wall. Her gasps of pleasure choked in her throat, strangling as she struggled to contain her orgasm as her feet fell to the floor. She hastily shoved her dress down to cover herself, her cheeks erupting brightly in embarrassment. Kol deftly covered himself, not bothering to wipe the blood from his chin, as he narrowed his eyes and focused on the man standing a few yards from their tryst in the hallway.

The man was portly and dressed in the clothes of an exalted butler. His face was shrewd and drawn so he resembled a gassy, perturbed polecat. Kol had seen enough of his kind to recognize a pompous servingman when he saw one. Instantly, a bright grin lit his face and he stepped back so he was standing closer to the middle of the hallway with his arms held out slightly from his sides. Angry French ranting erupted from the man as Kol mockingly faced him, but the Original was unaffected.

"I must admit, I'm not that familiar with the native tongue yet, old chap," he commented with a cheeky smile. Glancing over at his companion, he offered her an amused smile, but she was embarrassedly staring at the floor, her cheeks growing redder. Kol frowned, pouting exaggeratedly, and looked back at the man as he advanced on them, yelling something in French about disgrace.

Reaching out, Kol planted a hand on the man's chest, effectively stopping him in his tracks. His eyes grew serious even though he continued to smile. The servant looked up, frowning in consternation, and Kol caught his gaze, his pupils dilating and spinning as he worked the art of compulsion on the man's soggy mind.

"I'm going to need you to forget that last part, darling," he commented off-handedly to the man, "Well, the blood part anyway. The rest of it…" He motioned between himself and the girl who was now watching him with wide eyes, confusion and fear covering her face. "Do remember that, please." His grin widened and he released the man, leaving him standing dumbly in the middle of the hallway, before turning to the girl. She shrank away from him, her eyes wide and baleful, unsure what he would do to her.

Her blood trickled down the side of her neck, staining her collarbone and the lacy frill at the top of her dress. Reaching up, Kol cupped the side of her face and smiled, his eyes dark and swirling as he looked down at her.

"What… what are you?" she stammered, her ecstasy from only minutes before now turned into fear of the unknown.

He smiled brilliantly at her, his dark eyes looking like the blackest night in the dim hallway. "That doesn't matter now. What does matter is that you're going to forget," his eyes were twisting, the pupils absorbing every speck of light in the room and captivating her. She went limp against the wall, captured by his gaze.

"You will forget I fed on you," he spoke conversationally, reaching into the breast pocket of his tunic and withdrawing a handkerchief. Dabbing at her neck, he took her hand and made her hold the fabric, guiding her hand to clean herself up. "Surely you tripped and cut yourself while cleaning," he noted.

"I cut myself while cleaning," she repeated, her voice dull and monotone as she repeated the thoughts he was fabricating in her mind.

"Don't forget the fun we had though, darling," he reminded her, smirking irascibly as he stepped back and straightened his clothes.

Leaving her standing like a statue against the wall, he turned back to the hallway and smirked at the man who was just coming out of the haze of his compulsion. Patting the man on the inside of his shoulder, Kol sidestepped him in one smooth motion and departed at a leisurely pace down the hallway. Behind him, the reprimanding commenced as the Original vampire smiled, pleased with himself, and disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

The throne chamber bustled with activity, a long line of bodies snaking out of it like the thrashing tail of an irritated lion. An assortment of people filled the great halls of the palace, ranging from noblemen and their wives visiting from far away down to farmers with their lopsided hats and hands which looked seldom washed. The three Mikaelson siblings stood close together, each of them watchful of their surroundings. Elijah's chin was lifted slightly, his dark eyes cast around the room absorbing every detail as usual. The sunlight illuminated the faces which had been shrouded by darkness the evening before, and he categorized the nobles he saw, sorting them in his mind like chess pieces in his own personal game. Klaus stood beside him with Rebekah on the far side.

Leaning closer to his sister, Klaus slipped his arm around her waist so he could pull her closer to speak with her. She raised her eyebrows at him, daring him to make a scene in such a public place - she knew he wasn't above it - but she said nothing. He smiled and gestured toward the entryway a few yards in front of them. The double doors were flanked by exquisitely-dressed guards, some in the crimson robes of the Cardinal's men and some in the sky blue of the king's musketeers.

"I would wager a bet that Red tastes better than Blue," he commented playfully. "Self-righteousness has a distinct pleasantness to it."

Rebekah smiled, her blue eyes darkening as she smirked amusedly. The gilded fabric around her waist rustled audibly as she shifted her weight beside him. "Au contraire, Nik," she countered pleasantly. Anyone listening would only hear the pleasant lilt of their voices and would believe they were talking about the weather and not about which sort of human tastes best on the palette.

She leaned closer to her half-brother, her hawk-like eyes focusing on one of the longer-haired Musketeers standing comfortably along the wall. Cutting her gaze from the musketeer, she looked coyly up at Klaus. "Warriors always taste better than glorified bodyguards," she argued with a smile.

His dark blue eyes flashed and he smirked, releasing her as the line shifted forward and they stepped up to the entrance to the throne room. "You have a good point, sister," he agreed, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I suppose the only way for us to prove which of us is right is to partake."

Rebekah inclined her head, feigning seriousness although trying to hide a smile. "A taste test is the only way," she agreed in a girlish tone, mocking the prim ladies flitting around the castle.

The two of them stifled laughter as their older brother cut a silencing look at them. Rebekah slid her arm through Klaus's elbow, leaning on him and hiding her face behind his shoulder as she struggled to obey Elijah's wordless command. They needed to behave themselves. How dare they?

Klaus offered Elijah a pleasant grin that the eldest Mikaelson ignored as he turned back to the audience the French king and queen were holding with their latest subjects. The Mikaelsons were next in line.

Suddenly, a disruption clamored up the line from behind them, drawing the attention of the three Originals. Out of the crowd emerged Kol, his clothes in slight disarray and a wild smile on his face. Barely containing his vampire speed, he hurried to their side in a flash, warranting an entertained smile from Klaus and a disdainful look from Elijah.

"Have I missed anything?" Kol asked brightly, glancing among his siblings before standing on his toes to look into the throne room like a child at a parade.

Elijah reached out to grab the lapels of his coat, forcing him to face his older brother as Elijah fussed over his clothes. "How lovely of you to finally arrive. We are next to gain audience with the king and queen," he stated professionally as he flicked Kol's neck to force his chin up so he could straighten the lacy collar of his shirt. "Meanwhile, our brother and sister were debating which flavor of Frenchman they should enjoy for brunch."

Kol raised his eyebrows in amusement and smiled broadly at Klaus and Rebekah. Escaping from Elijah's fussing by batting his hands away, Kol went to Rebekah's other side and looped her free arm through his elbow. Leaning against her so their shoulders were together, he patted her on top of her gloved hand as he laced his fingers through hers. "I've tried the Red and it's quite bitter."

Rebekah looked pointedly at Klaus and sniffed knowingly. "I told you." Before Klaus could respond, Elijah shushed them and ordered them forward into the receiving chamber.

Elijah walked into the chamber with Rebekah positioned arm-in-arm between her remaining two brothers behind him. The four of them came to a halt, and Klaus and Kol released their sister but positioned themselves near to her. She didn't need their protection but this was their dynamic. They were used to it by now. Rebekah was their only female, and while she hated being coddled, their protectiveness was a necessity dictated by societal constructs. Her back was rigid as they stood beside her like bodyguards - she'd complained more than once how she felt more imprisoned than protected in situations like this - but she said nothing. She would give them all an earful later.

The king and queen of France sat stiffly on their thrones, bedecked in expensive fabrics which shone like the sun as its rays radiated around the room. The four Mikaelsons bowed, Rebekah gathering her dress in her hands to perform a perfect curtsey, straightening when the king nodded his approval of their show of respect. Elijah, ever the gentleman, was the one to speak for them all.

"Your Majesties, I wish to present my family," he announced, his voice so smooth it sounded as if he was working a thread of compulsion into the words. He motioned behind himself at each of them, "Lord Niklaus, Lady Rebekah, and Lord Kol of House Mikaelson of England." Turning back to face the regents, he dipped his head respectfully, "And I am Lord Elijah Mikaelson. We have traveled far to settle in your beautiful country."

The king, a raven-haired man with a pinched nose and youthful features, shifted his ankles so they were crossed. His hands were positioned on the arms of his lavish seat, each of his fingers bedecked with one gaudy ring after another. The combination of his shining outfit, his flowing, wavy black hair resting on his shoulders, and his weasel-like face was laughable, and Rebekah bit the inside of her bottom lip to resist laughing. He looked like a child who was about to have a temper tantrum on the throne, and his insignificant height didn't help matters. However, as he sat forward slightly to greet Elijah, he didn't seem angry. Perhaps his face simply looked as if he perpetually smelled something.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lords and lady," the king spoke, his French accent thick as he cursorily glanced over the four of them. They didn't seem to interest him much. They were merely new subjects, new nobles whose arrival would inflate his pockets. The thought mildly perturbed Rebekah, and she could feel Klaus stiffen beside her. He'd noticed it as well, and the idea of a human looking down on them irritated him. He considered himself better than humans, with their fragile lifespans equal to a candle's flame in comparison to the Originals' immortality.

"The pleasure is ours, my liege," Elijah answered with a genteel smile. "If I may be so bold as to request something of you, only days after arriving in your fair land?"

The king raised his eyebrows, not expecting this turn in the conversation. He nodded slightly, "Proceed."

Elijah straightened, untwining his hands and gesturing toward Rebekah on his right side. She knew this was her cue, and she smoothly glided forward until she was standing beside him. He gently rested his hand on the back of her elbow as he addressed the king once more.

"My sister is unwed and still a maiden," he pointed out. Rebekah's face remained composed and emotionless as Elijah wielded the story he'd been fabricating for decades, reusing when they relocated. This was part of the elaborate plan the eldest Mikaelson had concocted to protect them from their father. He believed France would offer them safety. At least, he hoped a new country and new lives would protect them from Mikael. Elijah did everything he could to preserve them, and Rebekah played her role in honor of Elijah's efforts.

"If your majesties would be so kind as to find a place for her among the queen's ladies, my brothers and I would be eternally grateful," Elijah concluded respectfully. It was astounding how his moral tongue could weave a phrase. The way he used language was magical.

The queen reacted now, sitting up even straighter in her high-backed seat. The expansive collar of her dress fanned out behind her crown of honey curls, wreathing her in a halo of her personal grandeur. The layers of her exquisite gown matched her husband, rich blue fabric decorated with golden brocade which cascaded over her chair and spilled out onto the floor around her chair. Her light blue eyes glittered intelligently, mimicking the sparkling jewels of the circlet resting in her up-do as she openly scrutinized Rebekah. Rebekah met her gaze and didn't look away although she should have. It was impolite to stare directly into the gaze of a royal, but Rebekah didn't care. The queen's face betrayed none of her thoughts as she examined the Mikaelson sister.

Rebekah had heard the queen wasn't much older than the age she herself was eternally mired in, and her youthful features supported the rumors. She couldn't be much older than eighteen, but the keen spark of intelligence in her eyes spoke volumes. This was not a shallow teenager like some queens Rebekah had met. She was a woman who deserved the power human government had given her.

"It so happens one of my handmaidens was just dismissed for being less than... pure as a handmaiden should be," the queen commented, sizing Rebekah up.

At the end of the line of siblings, Kol's smirk was almost audible as he smiled proudly to himself. His amusement was contagious, causing a knowing grin to curve Klaus's lips as well. Elijah expertly contained his reaction and ignored them both as Rebekah lifted her chin and continued watching the queen.

"While I am willing to evaluate your request, _monsieur_ ," the queen noted to Elijah, "I wish to know what the lady Rebekah thinks of this arrangement."

Rebekah was honestly taken aback by the queen's comment. She wasn't used to being addressed. She was accustomed to remaining silent while her older brother enacted his plans for their family. Of course she had her own opinions, but she'd been trained by centuries of patriarchal society to keep them to herself. Now, the queen of France was openly asking her opinion.

Immediately, Klaus sobered and looked up from where he'd been staring at the stone floor, the queen's words piquing his attention. She rose from her throne, the fabric of her gown almost soundless as she stood and glided to the edge of the stairs leading down to where the Mikaelson siblings watched her. No one else in the room moved as the queen came forward, stepping gracefully down the two stairs so she was standing at Rebekah's level. None of them had seen a monarch behave such a way in their few centuries of life, and the four of them were focused in varying degree of curiosity on this human queen.

She stepped up to Rebekah and her austere demeanor dissolved into a kind smile as she looked at the other female. "What do you wish, _mademoiselle_?" she asked again, gently urging Rebekah's answer instead of forcing it. As a monarch, she was within her right to force her subjects to give her whatever she wanted, no matter how minuscule. But she refused to do so.

Rebekah could feel her brothers' gazes on her - all except Klaus who was staring so hard at the queen she was amazed the girl didn't spontaneously burst into flame from the intensity of her brother's eyes - and she relaxed as the queen's merry gaze helped to soothe her. For once, she was allowed to make her own decision. Of course, she would go along with Elijah's plan because she believed it was the best for their family. But she couldn't express her glee over finally having the option. She'd never been offered the choice before. It had always been understood she would comply.

"I would be honored, my queen," Rebekah admitted, allowing herself to smile at the young queen.

The queen smiled brightly and clasped her hands together in front of her happily. It was a youthful gesture, but she didn't look childish. Her glee wasn't a weakness as some monarchs seemed to believe their emotions to be. Swiveling at her waist to look at her husband past the expanse of her wide collar, Queen Anne smiled delightedly. "How delightful!" she exclaimed, warranting a small, emotionless smile from the king. Turning back to Rebekah, the queen didn't allow her husband's lackluster reaction to tarnish her good mood. "Come with me, _mon amie_ ," she urged, motioning for Rebekah to follow as she turned to depart from the throne room.

Glancing among her brothers as the queen turned her back, Rebekah didn't further hesitate but followed after the human queen, unable to contain her own excitement. For once, she was departing on her brother's mission, but it was for herself. She'd made this decision, and the freedom seeped into her joints so she felt as if she may bounce when she stepped.

Elijah recovered first and looked up at the king with a genial smile on his handsome face. "Thank you, your majesty," he commented as the queen and his sister disappeared through the hidden doors at the side of the room away from the gathered crowds.

"Welcome to France, _messieurs_ ," the king answered, his tone mildly bored. With that, they were dismissed.


	3. Chapter 3

The rustling of satin filled her ears as Rebekah raced through the expansive gardens surrounding the palace. She laughed gleefully, a sound she hadn't heard from her own lips in decades. It was sincere laughter, the sound of happiness. Freedom bubbled up in her chest, and she slowed, holding her arms out to her sides and closing her eyes as she inclined her face to the sun. The warmth didn't affect her eternally cool skin, but she didn't care. She felt alive.

She feigned a deep breath, pulling her shoulders up slightly and puffing out her chest in the way she remembered. She'd become an expert at pretending to be human over the centuries, but for the first time in close to five hundred years, she could almost imagine she was human again. She enjoyed her strength, speed, and vitality as a vampire, but she missed the fleetingness of humanity. She missed the struggle for survival that beset a mortal.

"Come on, Rebekah!" cried the young French queen in her pleasant, lilting voice, laughter in her tone.

Dropping her chin, her golden curls bouncing on the top of her head, Rebekah's blue eyes caught sight of her newest companion instantly. Queen Anne raced across the garden from the opposite direction, her brocade gown grasped in her slender fingers as she ran. She was being silly and entirely unladylike, but she didn't seem to care. She was carefree, something Rebekah was sure she seldom experienced. Even while she ran, she was graceful like a deer springing across the ground, and Rebekah grinned before racing off after her.

They were becoming fast friends, and Rebekah found no trouble in assuming her role as the queen's lady. She was enjoying France already, falling into a safe pattern until she'd almost forgotten about the ever-looming threat of her father. Queen Anne had taken her in quickly, and they got along marvelously. The queen had a fiery spirit she didn't show to many, and Rebekah enjoyed that about her. As far as humans were concerned, this queen was one of her favorites.

Attention was lavished on the golden beauty now that she was a part of the queen's ladies. She was used to attention, but she always relished in it. Gentlemen whispered about her in the halls, unaware she could hear them with her heightened vampire hearing. Their whispers about her beauty inflated her ego, and she enjoyed it. She deserved the praise. She was an Original, after all.

Catching the queen was easy since Rebekah never got winded and she had the art of immortality on her side, but she carefully kept her vampirism in check. Running past, she reached the perfectly manicured shrubbery at the end of the path first and laughed victoriously as the queen padded to a stop beside her, panting and smiling.

"Ah, such fun!" she exclaimed, reaching out to pat Rebekah's gloved wrist as she caught her breath.

"Are you sure the nobles won't look down on you for this, Your Majesty?" Rebekah asked, pretending to be winded although she certainly wasn't.

The queen sniffed dismissively. "The nobles look down on anyone for anything. I couldn't care less. They have no right to judge us for having fun." She cut a mischievous look at Rebekah, and the Original sister laughed brightly.

"And you can call me Anne, Rebekah," the queen pointed out with a small smile. "We're friends now. There's no need for such formalities when it's just the two of us."

They shared a conspiratorial glance and a smile before Anne looked away, toward the entrance to the expansive gardens. The section where they stood was a low-cut maze of shrubs interspersed with massive planters containing brilliant, colorful flowers. Behind them, the gardens ran off toward the horizon, the shrubs giving way to the swooping branches of yew trees which clothed the pathways in dense shade and offered respite from the heat in the summer months.

At the mouth of the gardens was the exquisite palisade where a small contingent of Musketeers stood guard, ever-watchful over the queen and her ladies. Anne raised her eyebrows and glanced back at Rebekah, motioning subtly with her chin toward the Musketeers stationed out of earshot.

"There seems to be no end to the amount of attention you receive,  _mon amie_ ," she pointed out, smiling brightly at Rebekah as she turned to look at the guards. When Rebekah looked up, one of the musketeers swiftly looked away but not before she'd noticed him watching her. She felt a feeling akin to her heart leaping in her chest, and she would have blushed if she still had the ability to do so.

Noticing her reaction, Anne frowned slightly and leaned forward so she could whisper. "Have you thought of finding a husband? You're of age, and there are plenty of men around who could offer you a wonderful life. Surely your brothers would approve?"

Rebekah sighed breathlessly and lifted her chin, mild exasperation forming a crease between her blue eyes. "My brothers tend to be very... involved in the affairs of my heart," she admitted carefully. The truth of the matter was that Klaus enjoyed destroying her lovers as if it was his life goal. She believed Elijah wanted her to be happy, but Klaus's paranoia following Alexander's betrayal overrode any of her other brothers' intentions for her. She hadn't bothered giving her heart to anyone since. It had been five centuries, but she didn't care to get deeply involved with a man. Alexander's betrayal and attempted murder of her and her family had scarred her to an extent that she didn't care to try. Her lovers had been merely that: objects to play with before she fed on them. She shared some of them with Klaus or Kol, or both, and some of them she kept entirely for herself, but otherwise she remained detached. Perhaps one day she would love again, but her trust was broken. Five centuries hadn't proven otherwise.

"I was to be married once, and it ended badly," she confessed, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

Anne pursed her lips and glanced toward the musketeers before looking back at Rebekah. "But you can't be old enough to have been engaged once, can you?"

She realized a moment too late that she'd allowed her words to almost give her away. Smiling at the queen to cover her misstep, she shrugged her shoulders upward. "I was a bit younger than I am now. After that travesty, my brothers agreed it was acceptable for me to wait a few years."

The explanation placated the queen and she nodded knowingly. "Brothers can be rather protective," she acquiesced with a small smile. "Well, perhaps if you overcome what happened to you, then I could see to it that you find yourself an acceptable match." Anne's friendly smile was contagious and Rebekah nodded slightly as the queen wrapped their elbows together, walking beside her at a slow pace back through the garden.

 

* * *

 

 

"The trade you will introduce into the kingdom is most beneficial," the king remarked, walking with his hands resting behind his back and his black hair in curls down the sides of his pinched face.

Elijah smiled slightly and nodded, "I certainly hope so, Your Majesty."

"France would not prosper without those of your kind to hold up her arms," King Louis pointed out, his expensive shoes crunching on the gravel pathway as he walked slowly through the garden flanked by the two older Mikaelson brothers. Looking at Klaus on his left side, he was forced to lift his chin slightly thanks to the difference in their height, and Klaus restrained an amused smile as he noticed.

"What of you, Monsieur Niklaus?" he asked, looking down his regal nose at the Original.

A strained smile flattened Klaus's lips as he consciously resisted the urge to say something sarcastic. "I am the Mikaelson family's trade master," he clarified, not bothering to meet the king's eyes although Elijah was glaring daggers at him, for the disrespect, from the other side of the short man. "My brother is our figure head, the preservationist of our family's history," he deigned to look down at the shorter king now, his eyes dancing darkly. "I prefer to get my hands dirty."

After a moment's pause, the king threw his head back and chortled, thoroughly amused and remaining unaffected by Klaus's threatening nature. Klaus assumed he was merely too dense to be wary for his own good. Apparently the man was only sovereign because he'd inherited the title, not because his personality earned it. Klaus wasn't impressed.

Cutting his eyes over the man's head, his gaze darkened as he met Elijah's eyes. His irritation with this puny human king was mounting, but Elijah inclined his head slightly, silently urging him to keep himself in check. Tilting his head, he pursed his lips in exasperation but said nothing else as the three of them turned a corner in the massive garden.

"I can't say I've ever gotten my hands dirty," Louis admitted, bringing his hands around in front of him and looking down at them for a moment. He turned them over to admire himself before dropping one hand and holding the other slightly out in front of him, wringing the fingers of his right hand together in thought.

"That sort of work is best left for others, my liege. Leave the dirty work to those equipped for such things," Elijah added, his tone grating on Klaus's nerves. He'd never been a fan of niceties, but Elijah excelled in the art of kissing one's arse when he wished.

The king waved dismissively and nodded. " _Oui, oui_ ," he commented offhandedly in agreement. He walked a step in front of them as etiquette dictated, and Klaus was tempted to glare disrespectfully at the back of his head, but he entertained himself with violent thoughts instead.

Suddenly, the king halted, forcing the two Mikaelson brothers to draw up short to avoid colliding with him. They followed his eyes across the garden to the sight of their sister whispering and giggling with the queen.

"She is a beauty, is she not?" the king noted, relaxing his hands to his sides as he watched the two women. Klaus raised one eyebrow, focusing on his sister and the queen. Rebekah had the severe, powerful look of a vampire, with golden hair, glinting blue eyes, and porcelain skin no human woman could truly achieve. He was proud to say she was beautiful in a devastating way, a way which had undone many men over the centuries.

At first glance, the queen paled in comparison, but upon closer inspection he realized he was mistaken. Anne was beautiful in a friable, effervescent way. She was the apotheosis of humanity. Everything about her spoke of life, but in a terminal, finite way. She was like the licking flame of a candle, fiery and tempestuous but bound to a limited lifespan. Once her wick burned down, she would be gone - remembered only by the historians - and that finitude intrigued him.

"Your queen is  _trés belle_ , Your Majesty," Elijah commented politely, always the gentleman. This was one of those moments when Klaus was relieved Elijah had spoken so he wouldn't have to. If he'd been forced to answer, he would have commented on the king's drabness in comparison to the queen and probably gotten their entire family thrown out of the country.

" _Oui_ , of course she is," Louis scoffed, "But I meant... her." He clarified, lifting his chin as he pointed directly at Rebekah with one of his manicured hands.

Elijah's eyebrows rose in surprise, and his mouth gaped open for a moment before he recovered. " _Merci_ , my liege. I am certain our sister would be flattered by your praise." Over the king's head, Klaus tilted his head and narrowed his eyes pointedly at Elijah who fixed him with a hard look, silencing him once again.

"As well she should be," the king stated egotistically, still not bothered to look at either of them and keeping his eyes trained licentiously on their sister. The brazenness aggravated Klaus who was the more easily perturbed of the two brothers, and Elijah's tenuous control over his brother's mood swings was quickly losing potency.

Louis finally tore his eyes away and glanced roguishly between the two brothers, a smirk on his face. "I trust Lady Rebekah hasn't found any male companions since your arrival?" he asked, his subtlety thin.

"None of which I know," Elijah admitted, shifting his weight and straightening the collar of his shirt where it rested on his chest over the lapels of his pristine coat. He always fiddled with his clothing when he was uncomfortable.

" _Trés bon_ ," Louis replied with a half-smirk as he drew himself up to his full height which still left him several inches shorter than Klaus and Elijah. Turning his face slightly toward Elijah, he kept his eyes on their sister while he spoke in a lower tone. "You may consider yourselves favored of the king," he pointed out before looking prepensely up at Elijah.

"I shall have one of my servants arrange a ride for us all," he chirped cheerily, turning back to watch his queen and their sister as the two women huddled together, speaking low enough that the two brothers couldn't even hear them with their heightened hearing. "A nice jaunt into the countryside would do us well. I could use the fresh air, as I'm sure we all could."

"Yes, my liege," Elijah responded, clearing his throat slightly as he acquiesced.

On the king's other side, Klaus tightened his jaw again and decided he could no longer tolerate this man's presence. " _Pardonnez-moi s'il vous plaît_ ," he spat, departing before waiting for the king's approval. If he stayed one more moment in that pompous brat's presence, he may inflict physical harm on him, and that would thoroughly destroy their plan to blend in. While mental images of the king's terrible clothes ripped to shreds and his body parts scattered to every corner of the gardens was an enticing thought, Klaus resisted the urge by balling his hands into fists at his sides as he stalked through the garden.

He headed straight for his sister and the human queen, and his muscles were stiff by the time he reached them thanks to how tightly wound up he was. The image of the king staring so inappropriately at his baby sister heated his blood, and it showed in his eyes as he arrived in front of the two women.

A dark cloud hung around Klaus as his sudden arrival interrupted their conversation, and he snatched Rebekah roughly by her elbow, pulling her away from the queen. "You'll have to excuse me," he spoke sharply to the queen, "I need to speak with my sister." He drug a protesting Rebekah away by her arm, leaving Anne alone, her eyebrows raised in mild astonishment.

Rebekah tore her arm away from his grasp once they were out of earshot from the queen, turning to face him with a spiteful glare. "How rude!" she admonished him, resisting the childish urge to smack him. "You can't just interrupt the queen, Nik." Her hands were balled up into fists, her arms wooden in front of her so her hands were consumed by the billowing skirt of her dress. She looked like an aggravated little child, and Klaus rolled his eyes.

"I'm not concerned with how rude the queen thinks I am," he pointed out, as if he had to explain himself. When was he ever concerned with how others construed him? Granted, he was secretly tortured by his bastard son status among his family, but no one knew about that outside of his siblings. He certainly couldn't be brought to care what a weak mortal thought of him.

"You should be. Your disrespect could be our undoing here…" Rebekah rambled on, chiding him for his behavior, but he ignored her. Stepping up beside her, he took her arm more gently this time and turned her so they were both facing Elijah and King Louis across the garden. The king was still watching her even now, and Klaus sneered to himself, his nostrils flaring as he almost snorted.

"Stop talking, sister," he ordered her quietly, looking down at her now as her shoulder was pulled hard against his chest. Her mouth shut with an audible pop, and she glared hotly up at him. She hated when he talked to her that way, and he knew it. He knew it would get her attention.

Ignoring her ire, he nodded toward the king and their older brother. "It seems the king has eyes for you, dear sister," he noted, a mocking tone in his voice as he said the word 'king'.

Taken aback, her eyelashes fluttered and she looked away from him toward the entrance to the garden. As if to reiterate her brother's point, the king lifted his chin slightly and smiled at her as if there was no one else on the grounds. Disgust roiled up from the pit of her stomach. Not only was he an unattractive marten of a man, but she considered his wife her friend.

Rebekah wasn't an idiot, and she was familiar with the disloyalty of most marriages within the upper class of Europe. Perhaps it was because of her personal experience with betrayal, but she was completely disgusted by the idea of a man cheating on his wife. Her lip curled slightly at the thought, her eyes darkening as she dropped her chin and watched the king through the tops of her eyes.

Klaus smirked as he noticed her stormy expression and released her arm but remained standing close against her side as he glanced toward the human king. "Don't be so disagreeable, Bekah," he teased her, his eyes glinting with mischief now. "The man is merely admiring you." He was being facetious, and she knew it, so she didn't relent her dark glare as she looked up at him.

"You know as well as I: nobles believe everything they want belongs to them, especially kings," she spat the last word in contempt. She belonged to no one.

Klaus nodded slightly, pursing his lips as he smiled, pleased with her irritation. It delighted him that someone else was as perturbed by the king's behavior as he was, even if it was for a different reason. "Think of it as a game," he suggested, glancing back down at her. Her eyebrows raised primly, interest piquing behind the storm in her eyes.

"Unless you don't think you can play the game with such a… powerful playing piece."

She looked up at him, and he could tell by the rebellious light in her eyes that his subtle challenge had already been accepted.

"Do you doubt my ability to manipulate a king?" she asked, her voice thin and defensive as a wicked glint danced in her gaze. The shadow of a smirk caught the corner of her mouth as she stared her brother down.

Feigning innocence, he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and leaned away from her. "I don't doubt your abilities at all, dear sister. Precedent merely supports an argument otherwise."

Rebekah narrowed her eyes at him and shifted her weight, twining her hands in front of her. She briefly glanced toward the king, this time smiling charmingly at him when she caught his eye. Leaning closer to her brother, she spoke out of the side of her mouth as she kept her eyes on the man who was now her target.

"Precedent should prepare to be proven wrong. No man is immune to a clever lady's manipulation."


	4. Chapter 4

"What does one wear to a 'jaunt' anyway?" Kol remarked facetiously, drawing himself up severely in front of the floor length, gilded mirror hanging on the wall. He perpetrated his best impression of Elijah who vigorously ignored him across the room.

Seated on an ivory couch behind him, with his wrist draped comfortably over the wooden-accented arm of the seat, Klaus glanced up through the tops of his eyes and chuckled to himself. He was already dressed in dark riding pants tucked into knee-high leather boots. His leather vest was cinched up over a billowing white shirt and his shoulder-length hair was tied back out of his face with a velvet ribbon. 

"If you dress too fancily, you may frighten the horses," Klaus joked with an amused grin. Kol nodded his head dramatically in agreement as Rebekah playfully pushed him out of the way so she could admire her reflection in the mirror.

"Don't be ridiculous, Nik. Kol has a way with animals," she pointed out, her tone light and teasing as she looked at Kol and pursed her lips. "Because he is one."

Kol childishly scrunched his nose at her and she raised an eyebrow at him, smiling gleefully. 

"Sister, remember your manners," Elijah intoned as he stepped up behind Klaus sitting on the couch. A sly smile teased the corners of his mouth as he straightened the lacy frill of his riding shirt. "It's in his nature to be boorish."

Kol sniffed proudly, standing up straight and inflating his chest so he looked like the pompous French king himself. "That's right," he agreed, accepting the comment as a compliment as he did all terrible things said about him. He took pride in being a scoundrel. Being appropriate was so dreadfully boring.

"You should be thanking me as well, brother," he pointed out, his dark eyes glinting as he grinned darkly at their oldest brother. "I single-handedly freed up a position among the queen's ladies for our dear sister. I'm obediently following your 'noble' plan."  He gracefully draped himself over the opposite end of the couch from Klaus, grinning cheekily up at Elijah behind him.

Elijah sighed soundlessly out through his nose, a habit he'd acquired despite not requiring oxygen to breathe. Finishing his work of straightening his clothes, he raised his eyebrows slightly as he looked at his youngest brother. "While your methods are not those I would have chosen..." Kol made a sound that was a mixture of amusement and pride, "I do appreciate your willingness to do what you must for this family. Not all of us are as dedicated, it seems."

Klaus glowered on the couch and began tapping his fingers on the wood decorating the arm of the chair. "No need attempting to veil your barbs with subtlety, 'Lijah."

"My point is merely that we all know you could try harder, Niklaus," Elijah clarified, the characteristic patronizing tone back in his voice. Rebekah intently fiddled on the ties on the front of her dress, avoiding eye contact with her brothers in the mirror, while Kol avidly watched the altercation between them unfolding like a child watching Shakespeare.

Klaus surged up from where he'd been sitting relaxedly on the cushions, whirling to face Elijah over the back of the couch. His hot temper rolled up into his eyes like a tempest, colliding like a storm front against Elijah's coolheadedness. "We've been doing this for centuries, Elijah," he pointed out. "We move, we settle, we become a part of human society, we blend in... Then Mikael inevitably finds us again, and we're forced to flee and start over. It's exhausting and repetitive."

Kol nodded and pointed at Klaus from his seat on the opposite arm of the couch. "I have to agree with that."  Elijah ignored Kol's quips as he stared Klaus down, silent and stolid as always.  He was like a stone in the center of the raging river that was Klaus's temper, smoothed over the centuries by the barrage.

"How long until we're forced to flee again: our tails tucked between our legs like the dogs Father believes us to be?" Klaus snapped exasperatedly.

Rebekah was watching them in the mirror now, her fingertips wrapped in the silken ties on the bodice of her dress. They all hated running, but Klaus seemed always to be the one confront the issue. The rest of them attempted to forget it, but Klaus never could. When he reminded them, shivers ran over the surface of her skin. Mikael was her father, but she couldn't even call him that any more. He hunted them, he stalked them, and he wanted them dead. A person's father wasn't supposed to want the death of his children.  She could no longer remember a pleasant time in their lives when Mikael was involved, if there ever had been one.

"Am I wrong?" Klaus asked them confrontationally, holding his hands out at his sides and glancing among them.

Elijah pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling with another sigh. "I don't like running any more than you do, brother," he admitted, lowering his chin and looking back into Klaus's face. 

"And that is why it is so important we be successful here. For centuries, the two of you have run rampant like barbarians," he reminded them, pointing at both of his brothers. "That behavior has done little to disguise us from our father."

He glowered at both of them, and both had the wisdom not to argue this time. While Kol never intended to give up the debase things he enjoyed about life, he knew Elijah was right. He could easily run and live on his own as he had done several times over the centuries, but deep inside he knew his wild behavior had an adverse effect on their family unit as a whole.  On the surface, he may not appear to care, but deep down, he did. 

Elijah continued as none of them dared to interrupt him, "Together, we are stronger. As a unit, we can do this. Perhaps we won't be safe from Father forever, but if we work together, we have a better chance."

"We're a family," he entreated them, glancing pointedly at Klaus and Rebekah now. The three of them had made an eternal pact over their mother's grave so many centuries ago now. He still remembered that moment as if it was yesterday.  

"Always and forever."

Klaus lifted his gaze from where he'd been glaring at the floor, and his stormy expression softened. Rebekah pulled her shoulders up in a breathless sigh, lifting her chin as she turned to face him. "Always and forever," she repeated quietly.  

Klaus nodded, his jaw set and his eyes hard. All of his siblings looked at him and he lifted his chin, dropping his shoulders as his eyelids lowered in resignation. "I no longer wish to run," he added before nodding once more. "I will do what I can to protect our family."

 

* * *

 

The steady thump thump of hoofbeats resonated like a heartbeat, driving into the ground and falling away as they ran. Sunlight illuminated the French countryside, turning every color into a vibrant version of itself and inundating the land with life. The only sounds beside the roaring of the wind in his ears was the beating of the horses' hooves and their panting breaths. Sweat began to foam up on his horse's neck, but Klaus pushed him harder, paying close attention to the animal's heartbeat beneath him. The gelding was an Arabian, and his fiery temperament lended itself well to his rider. The animal lusted for speed, and Klaus didn't desire to rein him in.

He was pushing toward the front of the group of riders before he noticed. Etiquette dictated they stay behind the king and queen, and only the thought of Elijah's inevitable tirade later should he be disrespectful made him pull the horse back slightly.  They were at a flat-out run now, and both horse and rider were grateful. Plodding along through the rolling hills surrounding the castle had been positively dreadful. He'd felt restrained, and his horse was impatient and high-strung. Now that they were running, both of them relaxed, allowing the rushing wind to become a deafening roar in their ears.

Too soon, the tracker leading the group blew his horn signaling the group to halt and water the horses.  He announced they would turn back to the castle once the horses were rested and ready to depart once more.

Climbing effortlessly down from his horse, Klaus ran his fingers through the creature's mane and released him to a squire to be watered. Waiting until the boy moved the horse past him, he busied himself with removing his riding gloves as he glanced up around the clearing where they'd stopped. Tall slender trees provided a covering of shade far above their heads, and the group was interspersed among the trees. Large fields of various crops rolled out into the distance beyond the line of trees, disappearing toward the horizon. With his keen eyesight, he could see the castle in the distance and knew it would be a few hours until they returned. He was relieved to be outside. Being inside for too many days made him as antsy as the Arabian horse.

The party was spread through the trees like an assortment of potpourri. The king was dismounting his horse several yards away with Rebekah and Elijah nearby. Elijah helped his sister dismount before the king offered her a wide grin and his arm, intent to take a walk with her. Just in time, Elijah offered his companionship as a chaperone so Rebekah wouldn't be left entirely alone with the lusting king. While Rebekah could certainly handle herself with the man, Elijah was too proper to allow his sister to go wandering alone through the woods with a man. How scandalous.

Klaus smirked amusedly to himself and glanced away from them through the trees, noticing Kol speaking intently with the three Musketeers who'd accompanied the group. As he listened, he could hear his brother asking the musketeer in question what the French words for certain inappropriate phrases were. 

Snorting in amusement, he leapt out of the way just as the last horse in the party whinnied and trampled to a stop right where he'd been standing.  Brushing himself off, he looked angrily up at the rider, preparing to curse him out for almost running him over with the horse.

However, the rider wasn't a 'him' at all, but none other than the queen herself. She was dressed casually compared to what he'd seen her wear before, in a corseted purple dress with a low collar and fitted sleeves. Seated side-saddle, she slid down from the horse's back in one fluid motion, not bothering to wait for one of the servants to help her.

Holding his tongue, Klaus raised his eyebrows and scowled at her as she brushed off her clothes. Finally, she lifted her head, and her light eyes caught sight of him instantly. "Lord Niklaus, I didn't see you there," she admitted blithely.

"Apparently," he retorted, his tone clipped. 

She drew herself up, running her gloved hands down the bodice of her lavender gown as he looked him in the eye. She didn't back down from him like most people did. The king was a mental simpleton and wasn't wise enough to be afraid of him, but this woman was something else entirely. He didn't interpret it as stupidity or arrogance with her.

"You sound as if you think I may have tried to run you over on purpose," she noted, her prim eyebrows raised as she reached up to gently pat her horse on its neck while the squire gathered the reins. As if offended by the thought, the mare turned her head and nipped at Klaus before the squire apologized and hurried the horse away from the two adults.

Glancing after the departing horse, he fixed the queen with a perturbed look on his face. "I suppose it wouldn't seem unjust considering my affront to you yesterday," he remarked, his eyes darkening as a grin teased at her lips.

"You were quite rude,  _monsieur_ ," she pointed out blatantly with an amused light behind her eyes. Lifting her skirt gracefully, she sidestepped him and glided past to the trees. 

Fuming obviously, he turned and went after her as she moved away from him. "I was quite intent to speak with my sister."

"Indeed you  _were_ ," she agreed, stressing her words in a way that almost sounded as if she was mocking him.

He caught up to her, aggravated and obviously so as he glowered down at her beside him. She walked demurely through the trees, her footfalls so smooth that even he couldn't hear them, and pointedly refused to glance over at him. Unaccustomed to not getting the attention he wanted (admittedly, he was a bit of a brat when he was aggravated), it perturbed him that she wouldn't show him even the ounce of respect it would take to meet his eye. 

She may be the queen of France, but he was Klaus Mikaelson, one of the strongest beings on the earth.

Swiftly and smoothly, he pivoted and stepped in front of her, forcing her to come to a halt before she collided with him. Her light blue-green eyes widened and her curls bounced on the crown of her head as she stopped. 

"Surely, you understand the importance of matters of the family," he countered, leaning forward slightly, his posture confrontational as always.  He was accustomed to his behavior coercing people to cower before him. Every step his adversary retreated was a victory for him, and he reveled in even such minuscule control.

But Anne didn't balk, and she didn't budge.  Her eyes sparked, recognizing and accepting the challenge in his posture.

Suddenly, she smiled, but the expression looked more like a challenge than a pleasantry. Klaus frowned slightly as she refused to back down from him.

"That's just the thing," she mused conversationally, twining her fingers comfortably in front of her, "Your eldest brother Lord Elijah is clearly the family's figurehead, its moral leader. Your sister Rebekah is, of course, one of my ladies-in-waiting and dear to my heart already. Even Lord Kol seems to be readying himself to join the Musketeers, perhaps."

She glanced over her shoulder through the trees to where Kol laughed jovially with the king's musketeers. Turning smoothly back to Klaus, she looked him directly in the eye before she spoke again.

"Do you have a purpose,  _Monsier_  Niklaus?"

Her tone sounded polite to anyone overhearing, but he recognized the barbs from her tongue. Among her kind, she was a saccharine sweet viper, underestimated by most of her contemporaries. While she looked like a wholesome, irreproachable teenager, she was anything but. 

As he was sure she'd intended, her question riled him up, and he ground his teeth together as he lunged toward her. He didn't grab her - manhandling the queen was an offense she could have him punished for, and while he wasn't concerned about human punishments, compelling the entire execution staff would be such an inconvenience - but he closed the space between them and glared angrily down at her.

Accepting the challenge, Anne raised her chin and glared back at him. He could hear her heartrate accelerate with adrenaline and a soft pink flush filled her cheeks. 

"Perhaps you should watch your tongue," he hissed, his eyes flashing. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he struggled not to tear her apart merely for piquing his anger. 

He suffered on a daily basis, fighting with his inner turmoil over the fact that Mikael was not his father. It plagued him. In every way, Mikael was his father, but they did not share blood. He reminded himself that he didn't care: Mikael was a monster he did not want to relate to. But there was a gaping pit of desire within his chest where he hungered for the father he'd never had.

There was also the reminder that Elijah, Rebekah, and Kol were not his full-blooded siblings. They were his family, yes. But he'd spent many a day asking himself whether he was theirs. No matter how often they reminded him of their vow - Always and Forever - his heart was hardened toward their devotion. There were times when he loathed himself far too much to ever allow himself to unconditionally love his family.

The queen's words reminded him of every bitter shortcoming of his heredity that he carried with him every day of his life.

Anne glared hotly up at him from where she stood, several inches shorter than him but imposing in her own way.  "I am the queen of France,  _Monsieur_  Mikaelson," she snapped at him, "It is  _you_  who should mind your tongue."

Indignantly, she spun on her heel and stalked off through the trees away from him. He didn't follow, and stood alone with his hands fisted at his sides for long moments. After her footsteps faded away, headed back toward the clearing, he remained there alone for quite some time. 

When he was sure he was alone, he gritted his teeth and swung around suddenly, slamming his hand into a nearby sapling and snapping it clean in half. The top half of the young tree splintered, some of the shards embedding in his knuckles. He didn't feel the pain, only the irritation that something else had gotten in his way.

Prying the wooden shards from his skin, he stalked off deeper into the trees away from the party. They could return to the castle without him. He had no further care for companionship.


	5. Chapter 5

Darkness had settled, bearing with it an eery chill. The young man, barely more than a boy at the age of sixteen, hurried along through the empty corridors of the palace's massive stables. Straw crunched beneath his booted feet, and the rustle of his heavy cloak mixed with the sighs and soft whinnies of the horses in their stalls. The chill settled in his bones, and he distantly thought it was strange to be cold this early in the year, but he hurried along at his task so he could finish and return home.

  
Reaching the last stall, he frowned at the sight of the open door and hastened forward to tend to the horse inside. The rider must have returned late and left before he could be greeted.

  
Rounding the open door of the stall, the young man's eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks, stunned. The gray Arabian gelding was covered in blood, his mane dried crimson and the dapples on his neck looking like variegated shades of red. The boy raced forward, worry for the animal blossoming in his chest. He gently ran his hands over the creature to find any wounds and was instantly baffled when he found none. How could a horse with no injuries be so covered in blood? Where was his rider? Surely anyone bleeding this badly would have requested assistance.

  
So consumed was he by tending to the horse that he didn't hear anything else around him.

  
Turning to fetch a pail of water to wash the horse, he sucked in a sharp breath as a figure materialized in front of him. The brush in his hand fell to the ground, the sound muffled by the soft covering of straw at his feet.

  
The man's face was covered in blood from the nose down, and it had dried to his neck and shirt. What wasn't covered in blood seemed to thrill with a bitter sort of energy, sending a chill down the boy's spine which was entirely unrelated to the chill in the air.

  
"Good evening," Klaus spoke conversationally, leaning comfortably against the open stall door and watching the boy like a hawk watches its prey. His hands were bloody as he stood to his full height and his arms fell down at his sides. Stepping forward, he slowly corralled the young man backward until he cowered against the wall of the stall. The boy was stupefied into silence by his fright, grappling at the wall as if intent to climb it.

  
"I commend you for having the appropriate amount of fear," Klaus spoke again, smiling malevolently as the boy scrambled against the wall as if he hoped to melt into it. Klaus leaned forward with a dark grin. "Some people don't understand what they should really be afraid of."

  
Suddenly, the pleasantries disappeared and he attacked, sinking his fangs deep into the young man's neck so fast the boy couldn't even cry out in surprise. He was a victim before the thought could cross his mind, his blood staining his shirt as Klaus roughly drank from him. Klaus supported his weight entirely, viciously draining the young man of his lifesblood. There were varying degrees at which a vampire could feed on a human, and Klaus was not intent to go gently.

  
There was little struggle as the Original vampire overpowered his victim. Only the rustling of the boy's cloak was audible as he flailed his free arm, and even that was muffled by the placid chewing of the Arabian gelding beside them.

  
As the boy's eyes rolled up into his head and his heartbeat became faint, Klaus reluctantly released his bite and pushed the young man back against the stall, pinning him there with one hand while he wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. Releasing a pleased sigh, Klaus threw his head back for a moment and breathed in a deep breath before lowering his chin to look at the boy again.

  
The young man was covered in his own blood which stained the collar of his once-white shirt. The dark cloak he wore disguised the rest of the mess, and Klaus repositioned him so he was leaning weakly against the wall. Straightening the boy's cloak so it covered most of his blood, he took his face in his hands. He could hear the faint fluttering of his heartbeat, and he knew he'd almost killed him in his impetuousness. With a small smile, he guided the boy's face up so he could meet his eyes.

  
"I know you're feeling weak," he admitted, not caring, "But there is something you must do for me."

 

* * *

  
Insistent rapping on the chamber doors roused Elijah from his reading by the fireplace, and he breathed out impatiently through his nose. Carefully closing his book, he set it on the couch as he rose and brushed his hands down his shirt. He'd discarded his jacket in preparation for the night, and he wore only his riding pants, boots, and the fashionably frilled shirt of a French gentleman. His hair was a bit mussed where he'd run his fingers through it while reading, and he absently combed his fingers through it now as he gracefully moved to answer the door.

  
The knocking quickened, and he frowned slightly. "Yes, I am coming," he insisted, mildly perturbed as he reached for the door handle and turned it.

  
Before he could pull it open, a weight from the other side shoved it toward him, and he released the handle just in time to catch the dead weight of a body falling. Catching the man in his arms, he pulled him into the chambers quickly and laid him out on a nearby chair, his eyes wide in surprise and dismay as the lad fell back into the seat. He was obviously weak, and his heartbeat flittered dangerously, sounding erratic like a leaf on an autumn breeze.

  
The young man's eyes were feverish and wide, full of fear as he looked up at Elijah. His mouth worked, but he couldn't seem to form words. Elijah moved toward him, fear and suspicion piquing in his mind, and he leaned forward as the boy motioned for him to come closer.

  
"Your- your... brother... wants... to wish you... _bon nuit_ ," the boy managed, wheezing pathetically. He released a weak breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His skin so pale it was translucent in the flickering light of the fireplace.

  
Frowning openly at the boy's message, Elijah bent over him to feel his forehead, confirming he was sweating profusely. He'd lost too much blood and was going in to shock.

  
"Nice to see he made it," came a familiar, wry voice from the doorway and Elijah stood upright, turning to glare at his half-brother who was leaning against the frame of the chamber door.

  
"What have you done to him?" Elijah asked in an accusatory tone, turning away to tend to the boy. "You've almost drained him entirely. So reckless."

  
Pulling back his sleeve, he bit into his skin and drew his own blood before pressing his wrist against the boy's lips, holding his head firmly until he drank. It took a moment, but the teenager slowly swallowed, his intensity increasing as he received the poultice that strengthened him. After a moment, he was clinging to Elijah's wrist and drinking his blood until the eldest Original pulled away.

  
The young man looked up at him, his eyes wide as he recognized Klaus who entered the room and shut the door behind him. Fear mobilized the young man, and he sprang up from his seat, scrambling away.

  
With a perturbed sigh, Elijah moved to him in a flash, his motion nothing more than a blur to the human eye, catching his shoulders in both hands. "You will remember none of this. Clean yourself up and get some rest. You will feel better in the morning," Elijah ordered him, the compulsion penetrating the young man's mind easily.

  
Nodding obediently, the teenager stood for a moment after Elijah released him before he made his way hastily to the door. As he passed Klaus, Klaus smiled and flicked him dismissively on the shoulder. "Don't forget to clean up my horse," he commented amiably as the boy hastened warily around him and hurried off into the hallway, slamming the door behind him in his haste.

  
Klaus looked up, a sly expression on his face, as his older brother turned to face him. The irritation was obvious on Elijah's face now, his dark eyes simmering with impatience.

  
"Is that what you've been doing all evening?" Elijah asked, examining his brother's blood-stained face and shirt with disgust. "The king and queen were quite curious when you neglected to join us on the return ride to the castle. I excused you by assuring them you could make your way back on your own.

  
"My only question is, how many bodies did you leave in your wake, Niklaus?"

  
Klaus smiled broadly, a gruesome sight with his lower jaw and neck covered in blood. "What's wrong, brother? Afraid I've mucked up your perfect little plan?" He staggered forward, his hips swaying as he chuckled darkly to himself. He stepped toward Elijah, closing the space between them since Elijah stood stolidly near the fireplace, refusing to move.

  
Lifting a hand, Klaus pointed into his face, his expression sobering slightly. "I see that look in your eyes, 'Lijah," he noted, his top lip curling slightly as his eyes hardened. "I am nothing but a monster to you, a half-breed... a bastard. I have no purpose."

  
His tongue hissed the last word viciously, and Elijah narrowed his eyes slightly but he said nothing. Klaus glanced away for a moment as he stabilized himself, his eyes taking on a vacant, lost expression as if he was suffering from an existential crisis. Elijah wouldn't be surprised. He'd been one of his brother's closest companions over the past five centuries. He knew Klaus better than he knew himself most times.

  
"You're blood-drunk," Elijah noted high-handedly, crossing his arms over his chest as Klaus came out of his daydreams and looked at him again.

  
"What purpose do I serve in this 'family'?" he asked, making air quotes with his fingers as he ignored Elijah's comment. He was too lost in his inner turmoil stemmed by the queen's barbed words.

  
Stumbling forward, he caught himself by planting his bloodied hands on the back of one of the chairs. A flash of disgust brushed through Elijah's gut at the cost of cleaning the furniture, but he remained silent as his brother continued.

  
"I'm just the bastard son, unable to truly claim the name Mikaelson," Klaus rambled on, his jaw setting and his eyes filled with emotion as he looked into his older brother's face.

  
"You know that isn't true--" Elijah began.

  
"Isn't it?!" Klaus interrupted him, surging around the chair toward his brother.

  
"Isn't it?" he repeated brokenly. "What am I to you... Rebekah... Kol? You call me brother but I am not, truly."

  
"You are as much my brother as Kol," Elijah clarified, drawing himself up in an attempt to combat the emotions threatening to rise up within him. He must keep a cool head. He was not prone to emotional outbursts like his siblings, and only his stolidness could bring Klaus out of this funk.

  
Klaus smiled mirthlessly and shook his head. "You promise your affections for me, promise I am your brother. Yet I am not if I don't follow your carefully designed plans. I'm a monster leaving bodies in his wake, the bastard brother as a smear on your perfect name." He stumbled forward and Elijah caught him in a flash, his hand strong on the back of Klaus's neck.

  
Elijah's touch seemed to sober him, and his eyes widened slightly. There was so much pain in his gaze, Elijah could barely bear it. He couldn't imagine what Klaus went through as a result of his parentage. Mikael and Esther were terrible parents to them all, but Klaus's lot had been entirely different. No matter how badly he wanted to, he could never truly alleviate his younger half-brother's pain. He didn't truly understand it. Klaus had at least that much correct.

  
"You're wrong," Elijah stated firmly, readjusting his grip as Klaus tried to pull away from him.

  
"You are wrong, brother," he repeated as Klaus fought but was too inebriated by the blood he'd engorged himself on to escape. "Family is a choice, not a curse."  
"Mikael doesn't hate you as he hates me, 'Lijah," Klaus slurred, shaking his head and on the verge of tears now that his anger had dissipated. "He turned me in to this. He made me a monster. What else am I?"

Elijah's lips parted and he enacted a breath to calm himself.

  
"Our father is the monster," he clarified. "He is the one who would hunt his own children, the children he raised from birth. He no longer defines us. We define ourselves by what we choose to become. We choose to be savages or to be kings, Niklaus.

  
"We're better than what Mikael made us. He may have erected molds with the wreckage of our souls, but the choice is ours to forge our own existence."  
Klaus's bottom lip trembled now, and his eyes shined with tears. Before he began to cry, Elijah crushed him in an embrace, allowing Klaus to retain his pride as he cried silently over his older brother's back. Klaus clung to him weakly, his fingers grappling at the silken fabric of Elijah's shirt, and Elijah gently soothed him with a soft 'shh' sound.

  
"You will always be my brother, Niklaus. Always and forever."


	6. Chapter 6

Anne ran the brush out through her honey-colored hair, watching the golden lamplight shining on it in her reflection in the mirror. The light illuminated her in a dim, sleepy glow and the slow combing through her hair made her drowsy.  Her movements stilled and her brush fell gently to her lap as she closed her eyes. Breathing in deeply, her shoulders rising with the movement, she released the breath and relaxed.

Being queen meant she rarely got time alone and moments like this were sacred to her.

As she closed her eyes, her thoughts strayed to the afternoon's events and how she'd allowed her temper to get the best of her. She felt a pang of remorse at the anger she'd seen on Niklaus Mikaelson's face, but she hadn't been given the opportunity to apologize even if she wanted to. Besides, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to. She didn't know what to think of the man. He had been clearly rude to her that day in the garden, and the afternoon horse ride was no different. She'd been sure, for a moment, that she'd angered him enough to touch her. However, in spite of the raging anger in his eyes at her words, he hadn't laid a finger on her. The entire short altercation mildly confused her and made her wonder why she was even reminiscing about it in the first place.

The sound of the door opening behind her was quiet on its hinges, but her eyes opened immediately and she frowned into the mirror as she focused on the chamber entrance.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, milady," Rebekah apologized, stepping halfway in through the door. As the queen recognized her, she smiled and gathered her hair in one hand over her right shoulder.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, her eyebrows raising slightly.

"I'm not sure," Rebekah admitted, glancing briefly out into the main chamber outside the room before looking back at the queen.  "There is someone here to see you. She says it's urgent."

Anne frowned and pursed her lips slightly as she set her brush down on the table in front of the mirror. What could be urgent at this time of night?

"I'll be out in a moment," she answered, and Rebekah nodded before closing the door behind her as she departed.

Returning to the main living area of the queen's chambers, Rebekah folded her hands in front of her and gracefully reentered the massive room. The sitting area was filled with various pieces of furniture - two ornate couches, piles of pillows for reclining on the floor, several sitting chairs - and the walls were decorated in fine art which appealed to the queen's taste.  Paintings covered the walls except for the floor-length window in the center of the far wall, which lit the room during the day.  The ceiling was decorated with hand-carved gold leaves in rows around white painted squares which glowed like jewels when the lamps around the room were lit.

The lamps had been turned down or blown out for the night, casting much of the sitting room in to shadow. As Rebekah arrived, her eyes adjusted instantly to the darkness, and she could see the shape of the young woman sitting alone on one of the couches. Her hands were folded nervously in her lap, and she was staring blankly at the floor. She didn't hear Rebekah's arrival, and the Original vampire was almost upon her before she caught sight of the movement.

Stopping near the end of the couch, Rebekah watched her as the girl looked up. "The queen will be right out," she announced. The young woman nodded in understanding and unfolded her hands just to grasp the fabric of her dress in her fingers. Nervousness rolled off of her like a spooked prey animal and made Rebekah's skin crawl. Curling her lips in distaste, she turned away from the human woman and busied herself with arranging the room.

"So you're the one she replaced me with," the young woman noted, that familiar thread of female jealousy soft in her tone. 

Rebekah stood, her back to the girl, and she lifted her chin before half-turning to look at the girl. So this was the girl her brother had defamed in order to get her close to the queen. Admittedly, the girl was pretty enough for Kol's taste, but Kol's taste in women wasn't terribly picky in the first place.

"I suppose," she replied noncommittally, shrugging her shoulders gently as she returned to her task of arranging the room. As a vampire, she needed little sleep and typically stayed up long hours with her brothers. Lately, she'd been staying in the queen's quarters with the other ladies in waiting, but some nights she returned to the familiar comfort of her ancient family. There was a feeling of safety for her in the bond of family.  Her brothers would always love her, and unconditional love was something she hungered for. Her terrible upbringing at the hands of Esther and Mikael coupled with the destruction of her trust thanks to Alexander made her depend on her brothers for affection even more. Granted, they weren't all good at expressing their devotion, and she was obstinate in what she wanted. So they had their disagreements and arguments, but they always ultimately knew one another better than anyone else ever could.

"You're beautiful," the girl stated, breaking Rebekah from her thoughts. Raising one eyebrow slightly, she glanced over at the girl again. She didn't have the opportunity to reply before the young woman continued.

"The noblemen will take a liking to you," she added, her tone taking on a warning tone. Rebekah paused now, turning to look at the other woman, her eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity.  "Be careful. Their affections can lead to your ruin."

Rebekah almost laughed out loud at the girl's warning, but she smiled softly instead. She certainly had nothing to worry about with a bunch of pompous human men. She could easily shred any of them with a flick of her wrist. They should be careful of her.

However, before she could respond, the door to the queen's bedchamber opened and Anne appeared in the sitting room. Her hair was gathered over one shoulder in a loose braid, hanging against the right side of her neck and leaving her jugular free on the left side. Rebekah turned away hastily as she felt the veins growing hot around her eyes. She hadn't fed for several days, and she hadn't realized how hungry she was until now.

Anne noticed the young woman sitting on the couch almost as quickly as Rebekah had, and her posture stiffened in reaction. Her light eyes hardened and her jaw twitched as she glided forward, her padded feet making no sound on the polished floor.

"My queen," the visitor exclaimed in a quiet voice, standing hastily from her seat to curtsey respectively at the queen's arrival. "I apologize for visiting at such a late hour."

Anne raised her chin slightly so she looked like she was looking down the length of her nose at the other young woman. "What is so urgent that you felt the need to visit me in my chambers at this time of night, Margot?"

Margot shifted her weight, wringing her fingers together in front of her again. Anne stood regally behind the opposite couch, her hands rested comfortably on the back of the seat. Dressed in her nightclothes, with her hair down, she should have looked undignified and underdressed, but she didn't. On the contrary, her regal air hadn't left her, and Rebekah could almost imagine a crown sitting comfortably on top of her honey-colored hair.

"You told me once that you weren't just my queen. You were also my friend," Margot spoke finally, cautiously looking up at the queen as she spoke. Rebekah believed this easily since it was the same promise Anne made to her.

Anne nodded slightly, her expression softening a fraction as she watched the other young woman.  Margot read this as her cue to continue.

"I come to you now as a friend in need. Only you can help me, milady," she rambled, taking a slight step forward entreatingly. Anne remained in place, frowning slightly in consternation.

"What is this need?"

Margot swallowed and sighed out through her lips, looking down at the floor before closing her eyes for the briefest of moments. Rebekah could see in the dim light how her cheeks had grown red in embarrassment even before she answered.

"You know well of my... indiscretions," Margot began, seemingly unwilling to delve immediately into the details.

Anne drew herself up and her nostrils flared slightly as she clasped her hands together in front of her. "Your indiscretions took you out of my employ, or have you forgotten?" Her tone was icy now. This was obviously a topic Anne preferred not to discuss.

It was no secret that the upper class did whatever, with whomever, whenever they wanted. Marriage meant nothing. Promises were empty. There was no loyalty where there was sex. Rebekah was wildly adverse to disloyalty, but she wasn't naive.

Margot nodded her head and drew in a deep breath. "I haven't forgotten, my queen," she admitted, breathing out again before continuing into her explanation. "It is the product of my indiscretions that I bring to you, entreating you to help me as only you can.

"I am with child."

The queen seemed dismayed but unsurprised by the news. Apparently, Margot had been with more men than just Rebekah's brother.

"It has been two moons since my time last came," she clarified, wringing her fingers together. "I was with different men at the time it must have happened, and unfortunately, I'm unsure who the father is. Honestly, I don't want to know."

Anne lifted her chin and watched the other young woman with a hard gaze. Rebekah wondered at the queen's iciness but decided to inquire further later.

"You don't want the child beholden to its father," Anne guessed, and Margot nodded in agreement.

"I don't wish for my child to grow up as a bastard. I wish to go to a land where we can live in peace without feeling we owe someone a debt."

The queen finally glanced away, releasing a heavy breath through her nose. Her face was turned away, but Rebekah could hear her heartbeat from across the room. Her heart was beating hard but steadily. She was obviously distressed by this news.

"Will you not owe me a debt for my help?" Anne asked quietly, her face still turned away.

Margot shifted her weight, watching the queen with pleading eyes but Anne wouldn't make eye contact with her. "That's why I came to you. I trust in the vow of friendship you promised me. I trust you, of all, can help me most. I trust in your compassion and your care. I know it's still there even through your anger over my indiscretions."

Anne closed her eyes and dropped her chin, slowly turning back to her former lady-in-waiting before she opened her eyes. "I will speak with the king early tomorrow morning. You can travel to Spain, the land of my birth. You will be safe there, and I will ensure you are taken care of so you can begin your life. After that, your life and the life of your child is your responsibility."

Relief flushed over Margot's face, rolling off of her so powerfully Rebekah could practically smell the endorphins. She danced forward before stopping herself, unsure if she was allowed to entreat the queen, her former friend, as she once would have.  " _Merci_ , Your Majesty! _Merci beaucoup_!"

Nodding, Anne swallowed and offered the girl a strained smile before Margot turned and hurriedly took her exit.  Once she was gone, exhaustion seemed to settle over Anne's shoulders, breaking her posture slightly.  She looked older than her years, with tired circles around her eyes, but she remained upright.

Stepping forward, Rebekah walked to her side but didn't touch her, afraid any physical contact may cause her to implode or explode. Rebekah wasn't sure which.

"How benevolent of you, milady."

Anne blinked and looked up as if just realizing she wasn't alone in the room and a nervous smile broke across her face as she shook her head. "Unfortunately, I can't admit my agreement to be entirely selfless," she commented, lifting her hands to lace her fingers together in front of her. Looking down at her hands, she ran her knuckles slowly back and forth across each other as she took a deep breath.

"You see... the indiscretions Margot speaks of were quite prolific. She was a favorite among the noblemen," she pointed out, her shoulders rising and falling gently as she breathed careful breaths in and out.

Lifting her chin, she kept her fingers twined together as she met Rebekah's eye. "My decision to help her is not entirely selfless because it is in her best interest, as well as mine, if the paternity of her child is never known.

"For you see, my husband was one of her many suitors."


	7. Chapter 7

The rustling of satin skirts sounded like the bang of war drums as the queen and her ladies marched down the expansive hallway leading to the king's governmental chambers. There was the formal throne room where the king and queen jointly heard the pleas of their people, but the king had his own web of personal chambers for all sorts of occasions. His sleeping chambers were even more expansive than the queen's, and those rooms fed into a network of rooms for governmental affairs. Every morning, he woke and dressed himself and attended to matters of state within these chambers, and that was directly where Anne was headed.

Her ivory collar rose up around the back of her head like a fan, accentuating her honey-gold hair and the brilliantly glittering coronet nestled into her hair. Her back was high and her posture was impeccable as she gracefully marched through the halls of the palace toward her husband's suites. She was well-aware of his lifestyle, both personal and political, just as she was aware what the people truly thought of him. There were those who adored him, just as all kings are wont to have loyal followers, then there were others who saw him as a child fascinated with fine art and music. This group held little respect to him outside of the contributions he was making toward French culture. However, the first group, those who were undyingly loyal to their liege, was the group she was consistently more worried about. They were far more dangerous in an entirely different way.

Holding her chin up high, she cupped her hands together in front of her corsetted stomach as she turned a corner and entered the elaborately exorbitant halls leading to the king's wing. Flanked by her ladies, Anne looked every bit like a general going to war. She didn't intend to come out of this meeting without what she wanted. She may seem a meek obedient woman in the eyes of the masses, but she was stalwart and powerful when she chose to be.

She was confronting her husband's demons indirectly, and only tact and poise would help her dance around the issue without addressing it head-on. While she imagined Louis knew she was aware of his illicit affairs, they never spoke of it. He was the king of France, and she was merely his wife even if she was royalty with or without his name. She was expected to forgive all of his sins, but that didn't mean she secretly didn't loathe them. She had imagined once that she could grow to love him even if their union had never been based on love. Royalty wasn't expected to love, only to use their bodies and their minds as conduits for peace and unification. Anne wasn't promised love when she was promised to the king of France as his bride. She was promised prosperity and power, but never love.  She no longer expected it; she merely played her role as his wife and didn't miss the fantastical idea of love she'd never had.

Of course, she wasn't unhappy. She'd been raised to be a queen, and she fit the role perfectly. Living in a loveless marriage didn't make her existence any less enjoyable. She had wealth and power, and as a girl bred for such things, she didn't balk at them. Maintaining her humanity past all of it had been her true struggle, but she knew what she wanted. Louis offered her enough of what she wanted to satisfy her. Love and affection would only be surplus.

"My lady!" exclaimed one of the Musketeers standing guard near the double doors leading into the king's business chambers. His face lit up with surprise, and he attempted to step in front of her. Everyone knew the king wasn't to be disturbed when he was dealing with affairs of state, not even by the queen.

"Step out of the way, musketeer," she ordered him in a gentle yet firm voice.  She sidestepped him as if dancing a dance and slipped to the doors. Thrusting them open, she entered the chamber with her head held high and her hands clasped in front of her.

The interruption caught the attention of all of the men gathered in the state room, standing in lines down the sides of a massive table which would have sat at least twenty people if it was ever used for eating.  Instead of being set for a meal, it was covered in parchments and scrolls and a miniature set of armies which covered a quarter of the opposite end from the door. A map of Europe was embellished beneath the toy soldiers, showing troop movements across the continent.

At the other end of the table, the sunlight streaming so powerfully in behind his head that his face was nearly cast into shadow, the king lifted his head and focused on his wife as she entered the room. The other men milled around the corners of the room, excluding the small group huddled on the king's flanks. Cardinal Richelieu was closest to him, as always, and several noblemen filled the ranks on either side.  This was 'men's work' as she'd often heard it called, but she thought that was silly. A woman could just as easily push toy soldiers around on a map and worry over whether the kingdom was going to get the appropriate amount of grain for the winter.

"Her Majesty, the queen!" announced one of the royal guards just within the door, standing up straight as the queen came to a halt at the opposite end of the long table from her husband and his political consorts.

The king stood and gazed at her with a mixture of confusion and aggravation. He didn't enjoy being interrupted by anyone, and a woman interrupting a man's business was close to one of the gravest of offenses. "My queen..." he began, brushing his brocade sleeves down to his wrists.

Anne rounded the end of the table and walked toward him, her wide skirt brushing over the legs of noblemen and causing them to shrink out of her way as if they were irrationally afraid they may be swallowed in satin and gold.  "Your Majesty, I have a request to make of you. May I have a moment?" she asked. It was more of a command than an actual request, and everyone nearby understood her tone immediately.

Louis's nostrils flared, making him look that an angry weasel with a respiratory problem, and he shook his head as he bent back over the map on the table. "I'm a bit busy with affairs of state, dear. Can this wait?"

Summoning her gentleness and poise, she cocked her head and reached out to brush her fingers over his arm. "It's rather urgent, actually," she admitted, withdrawing her hand. "I need one of your fastest ships to move some cargo of personal interest."

The king sighed and hung his head for a moment before standing and gesturing at the map on the table. "As much as I would love to attend to your personal interests, every ship in the Navy is busy attending to the coastline, protecting our borders," he informed her, running his finger absently along the blue stretch of the English Channel.

"Can you not spare one? It wouldn't be long, and your navy is so very large," she pointed out politely.

Louis shook his head, his curly black mane bouncing around his face. "Not one," he answered, fixing her with a hard look that was meant to silence her from further questioning his authority.  "Every ship in the fleet is busy. If it could wait a month or two, then there would be a ship available, but--"

"It can't wait a month. Surely there is some solution? Perhaps a smaller vessel which wouldn't be missed?"  She was pressing now, and she could see the vein bulging at the edge of his eye as she pushed the issue. He was reaching the limit of his short patience.

"I've already told you... there are no ships available. Even queens have to wait sometimes," he answered her, his voice taking on a displeased edge.  The men nearby didn't step back as etiquette dictated, but rather they leaned in to get a better show of the impending showdown between the two royals.

Anne opened her mouth to argue as politely as she could muster. There had to be a way to solve this problem. Margot couldn't stay here any longer. Soon, her pregnancy would begin to show and the search for paternity start. The queen didn't want that anymore than her former lady did.

" _Mon roi_ \--" she started, but before Louis's caustic look could cut her off, a lilting English voice interrupted her from the opposite side of the table.

"Perhaps I could be of assistance to Her Majesty."

Anne blinked, surprised that someone was interjecting even if she was aware every man in the room was listening. Looking up, her eyes met the blue eyes of none other than Niklaus Mikaelson. He offered her a winning smile and a glint in his eyes that was not unlike the glint off of a sharp blade. 

Drawing herself up as Klaus smirked at her, she breathed in deeply through her nose and raised one eyebrow as Louis straightened beside her. Klaus finally broke their gaze and looked at the king, smiling genteelly at him. Perhaps he was capable of being a gentleman when the mood struck him, she thought irritatedly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Majesties, but I happened to overhear the queen requires a fleet ship," he explained, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly before glancing pointedly back at the queen. "The ships in my merchant fleet are the fastest on the water."

Anne's jaw twitched as she clamped her teeth together, and her light eyes hardened. Even with her own vested interest in getting the pregnant Margot out of the country, she was averse to accepting help from this Englishman. He'd been nothing but rude to her since they'd met, and while she cherished his sister as her friend, she hadn't taken kindly to his presence. Why couldn't he be more like his gentlemanly older brother Lord Elijah, or delightfully irascible like his younger brother Kol? No, instead he was a hot-headed, rude man whom she'd grown unable to tolerate.

Secretly, she realized she was similar to him, and his presence turned her off as a result. She was often impetuous and easily angered, especially when issues got under her skin, and Klaus's presence reminded her of her own shortcomings. He'd made her so angry so easily when he'd confronted her in the woods while on their daytrip, and she didn't like losing control.

Lifting her chin, she offered him a pleasant smile which didn't reach her light blue-green eyes. "I appreciate the offer,  _Monsieur_  Niklaus, but I'm sure I can find another alternative." Turning, she departed the room as quickly as she'd entered it, leaving the king behind to shrug apologetically before returning to studying his maps with his advisers.

Returning to the hallway, she dismissed her ladies and stormed off down the hall by herself. She walked until she felt she was entirely alone, wringing her fingers together in front of her as she came to a halt in front of one of the floor-length, embellished windows in the passageway. Quiet settled around her, and her brows creased slightly as she stared out across the sunlit landscape of the gardens and grounds surrounding the castle.

"Are you so unwilling to accept my help that you would risk the spread of the secret you so jealously wish to suppress?"

Klaus's voice made her jump in surprise, and she turned to see him reclining comfortably against the decorative wall on the opposite side of the hallway behind her. Glaring at him, she lifted her nose and sniffed dismissively.  "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied, turning back to the window in an attempt to ignore him.

"Yes, you do," he countered. She couldn't hear him stand as she refused to look at him, but she felt his presence as he stepped up behind her left shoulder. It was as if the air around him spread and crackled with his appearance, and she narrowed her eyes to refrain from turning to address him. He hovered beside her without touching her, his closeness doing all the work for him.

"I know all about the little scandal you're trying to cover up," he admitted, lifting his gaze from the pulse on the side of her neck to look out the window. "My sister and I are quite close."

"So it seems," Anne remarked dispassionately. "I believed I could trust Rebekah. I suppose I was wrong."

"No, you were quite right. She's very loyal, to a fault actually," Klaus argued lightly. 

"Family above all, however,  _oui_?" she threw right back, finally glancing disdainfully over at him. Klaus smiled as he looked at her, not bothering to put space between them although that would be the proper thing to do.

"Don't fault Rebekah. Siblings can be so very insistent when they want to be," he pointed out, reaching out to lean one hand comfortably against the edge of the window. He looked so perfectly at home in the ornate hallway with the sunlight illuminating him in its bright, morning glow. He looked radiant as opposed to the fury she'd seen burning in him only the day before as she'd intentionally spurred his anger with her comments.

"I'm unconcerned with your family's dynamic, Mister Mikaelson. I appreciate your offer of a ship, but I will find another alternative."  She turned again to move past him, but he smoothly stepped away from the wall and into her path, blocking her escape.

Fuming, she balled her fists up at her sides and glared up at him as his eyes glinted again. "The Royal Navy has no available ships, and there are no other vessels as swift as those in my personal fleet. You wondered what purpose I serve for my family?" his question held a thread of contempt, and she recognized he had not fully forgiven her for what she'd said the day before.

"I am the master of trade. No manmade ship is faster than mine," he boasted. His words were so sure, she was convinced but turned off by his hubris. 

"You are certainly confident," she commented haughtily. Klaus shifted his weight and offered her his smirk once again.

"As well I should be. It's not bragging if it's true," he pointed out cheerily, and the comment would have made her laugh if she wasn't busy actively disliking him.

Rolling her eyes - how unladylike - she sighed and attempted to step around him again, but was blocked once more. "What do you want?" she snapped. Her patience was wearing thin thanks to her stress over Margot's predicament as well as her own. If that girl's child belonged to her husband, that would make the bastard the king's eldest born child. If the child was a boy in addition to that....

Anne had produced no heirs for the king thusfar. She was still young, but people love gossiping more than they love anything else. There were already whispers about her and her lack of child. Of course, no one ever blamed the man for childlessness in situations like this. She was at fault because Louis didn't have a male heir. 

"I want you to admit you need my help," Klaus confessed with a knowing smirk. He was so pompous. She wanted to slap him, and in her current state of distress, she almost did. Restraining herself, she snorted lightly. 

"I don't need your help. I can help myself," she retorted irritably.

He leaned toward her, and she could smell a sweet, strangely intoxicating scent lingering around him. Her eyes widened slightly as he invaded her personal space, but she didn't retreat. Instead, she met his gaze and stood her ground. 

"You don't have a month to rid yourself of this terrible secret," he informed her, as if she didn't already know. "My fleet's speed is unmatched. It seems you have no alternative."

"I will never beg for your help," she declared in a steady voice. "I would rather take the risk and wait than make a deal with you." She wouldn't beg anyone for anything. She was the queen of the most powerful nation in the world. 

"I know men like you, _monsieur_ ," she continued.

"Is that so?" he asked, obviously amused now. That glint sparked in his eyes again as she drew herself up in front of him.

Nodding, she went on, "I agree to your assistance and will be indebted to you for a lifetime. That is not a bargain I wish to make."  She knew the type well. Nobles too commonly used blackmail and bribery to elevate themselves through society. She didn't intend to be used such a way.

"That choice is yours, Your Majesty," Klaus replied amusedly, leaning toward her once again. He invaded her space, enveloping her with that sweet scent again which piqued the senses in the back of her mind and made goosebumps erupt over her arms. His eyelids lowered, and he glanced at her lips. She knew she should slap him for inappropriately invading her space, but she couldn't work up the strength to do so.

"Good day, my queen," he spoke, his words cresting warmly onto her face just before he turned and smoothly walked away from her, leaving her to fume silently in the hallway.


	8. Chapter 8

Rebekah was angry.

Storming through the family's common rooms, she marched straight to Klaus's room and threw open the door. Awaking violently from his sleep, he sat up groggily in bed and squinted at her as she advanced on him across the room.

"You fool!" she cried grabbing the first available object she could find, intent on throwing it at him. Water spilled out of the expensive porcelain vase, followed closely behind by the seven white lillies inside, dumping onto the floor in a mess that Rebekah ignored. Heaving the vase, she sent it flying at her brother's head. He ducked out of the way at the last moment, and the vase crashed into a thousand pieces which sprayed out across the headboard of the bed in a porcelain shower.  
  
Glancing around as he sat up and assessed the damage, Klaus turned to look at her as if she was insane. "What evil spirit has crawled up within you and died, Bekah?" he asked, scrambling out of bed as her jaw set and she reached for another weapon.  
  
"You're an arse and an idiot!" she exclaimed vehemently, lifting her hand to launch her second projectile at him.  
  
His vampspeed brought him to her in the blink of an eye, and he caught her wrist before she could throw the light fixture she'd wrenched off the wall. Klaus's eyes hardened and he twisted her wrist, causing her to drop her makeshift weapon with a mild cry of indignation.  
  
"What..." he began, driving her backward so he had her pinned powerfully against the wall, "Is wrong with you?"  
  
Rebekah fought against him, baring her teeth at him in anger. She was so riled up, she could barely form words and he glared daggers at her.  
  
"What in heaven's name is going on?!" Elijah exclaimed, rushing in through the wide open doors of the room. Glancing around, he noticed the showdown between his younger siblings, and he frowned as he crossed the room toward them.  
  
"Rebekah has lost her mind," Klaus answered, earning an irritable chuffing of displeasure from their sister.  
  
"I haven't lost my mind," she countered him, her voice tight as it became when she was angriest. "You've nearly ruined everything with your inability to keep your mouth shut."  
"Rebekah..." Elijah began, always the mediator. She shot him a threatening look, and he backed down, shutting his mouth and pursing his lips as she returned her angry gaze to Klaus.  
  
"You told the queen I told you about the girl," she snapped finally, and Klaus relaxed, releasing his hold against her so she slumped against the wall but didn't cease glaring at him.

"She guessed," he clarified, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally as he stepped back.  
  
Her blue eyes grew wide, silently ridiculing him. "She guessed? How could she have simply 'guessed'? That's the most ridiculous of your excuses I've ever heard."  
  
His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together and whirled to glare at her. "The woman hates me. I had to find a way to force her hand."  
  
"By making her hate you more? By driving her to hate us both?" Rebekah rebuked him angrily, stomping her foot to emphasize her point. She turned to entreat Elijah.  
  
"His loose tongue could lose the queen's trust in me," she informed her eldest brother. "In turn, that could ruin our entire plan to blend in and make peace here." She turned accusing eyes on Klaus who rolled his eyes as his back was turned to both of them.  
  
Before Elijah could lecture him about recklessness or his unwillingness to perform for the betterment of their family, he turned and planted his hands on his hips where the top hem of his loose-fitted sleep pants rested against his bare skin. "I have done no such thing. On the contrary, I was doing precisely what Elijah wanted me to do."  
  
Rebekah looked at Elijah again, prepared to accuse him for his hand in the incident, but he shook his head and narrowed his eyes in obvious perplexion. "Antagonizing the queen is certainly not among the items we've discussed," the eldest Mikaelson sibling pointed out in a business-like tone.  
  
"You've said it yourself, brother: we must blend in here if we ever hope to stop running and permanently settle in France. As the tradesman of the family, I am obliged to make the best alliances for our family's well-being."  
  
"So enraging the queen was your idea of forming valuable alliances?" Elijah asked flippantly. Klaus glared at him in response.  
  
"Of course not. I merely intended to show her how she needs us, our family. Only we can be trusted with the greatest of her secrets. That trust leads to much greater rewards in the future," Klaus pointed out, almost wistfully.   
  
"We're to believe the queen didn't hurt your feelings last week, and you're not acting out as a result?" Rebekah spat confrontationally at him, earning herself his caustic glare. His eyes lit up with warning. They didn't talk about incidents like that one; it was silently forbidden among them.  
  
Klaus's top lip curled slightly in a half-snarl, and Elijah took the moment to step up between them, his hand gently pressing into Klaus's chest. "Brother, dress yourself. Rebekah, breathe and calm down."  
  
Each of them hesitated for a moment, threatening to rebel, but thought better of it. Turning, Klaus stalked off across the room to his armoire to fetch himself a fresh shirt. Rebekah crossed her arms over her chest and huffed silently as she stared at the wall. Sighing, Elijah turned toward her as Klaus dressed.   
  
"Niklaus is right, Rebekah," he spoke, his tone gentle as it always was when he knew she was going to disagree with him.  
  
Her blue eyes were like fire as she turned to look up at him angrily. As she opened her mouth to argue, he held up a hand to silence her as he continued.  
  
"There is a reason we wanted you to become one of Queen Anne's ladies," he explained, folding one hand behind his back and gesturing with his free hand as he watched his sister's face. "Allying with the queen gives us much protection here. Of course, the king's favor on us is very helpful..."  
  
"While the king may rule their minds, the queen rules their hearts," Rebekah finished for him.  
  
Elijah's lips twitched, threatening a smile, and he lifted his chin as he appraised her appreciatively. "Not exactly what I was going to say, but well-put, dear sister."  
  
Rebekah's pride was obvious in her eyes as Elijah praised her, and she relaxed her arms to her sides. "She was upset that I didn't keep her secret, but she claimed she understood. She understands how insistent brothers can be."   
  
Rebekah said it as a barb, but the comment caught Klaus's attention and he raised his head in recognition as he pulled his shirt on one arm at the time. Inspite of her persistence in disliking him, his words had gotten through to the queen when he'd corralled her in the hallway the day before. A smirk slowly spread its way across his lips as he laced his shirt up beneath his chin. It seemed he'd won that argument moreso than he'd believed.  
  
"The queen has invited us to the Masquerade Ball tomorrow evening. I suppose we must prove we can still be trusted," Rebekah added, flattening her dress over her waist as she cast a judging look at Klaus's back.  
  
"We will all attend, of course," Elijah answered her, reaching out to gently run his hand to her elbow in a calming guesture. Seeing his comforting smile, Rebekah allowed herself to smile softly up at him.  
  
"I'll let her know we'll all be in attendance, and hopefully, all of us will be able to behave," she replied, her last comment obviously intended for Klaus who kept his back to them both as they departed the room.


	9. Chapter 9

The weekend had arrived, and the queen was no less at a loss for a solution to her problem. Outwardly, she seemed unperturbed and emotionless. On the inside, she felt like a churning tempest ready to explode at any moment. The entire royal fleet was preoccupied settling skirmishes along the northwestern borders of the country, and every merchant with a ship available had no space for extra passengers. She'd never known acquiring a vessel for transport would be so difficult, especially for the queen herself. However, short of tying Margot on the helm of a boat like some sort of living figurehead, she was out of options and time.

Sighing audibly, she hung her head and gave herself a moment to breathe. Counting slowly to ten, Anne lifted her head and stared defiantly at her reflection. She was the queen of France. She would find a solution, and she wouldn't rest until she did.

Carefully, she lifted her crown to her head and rested it firmly on her honey-colored hair. She had a wide variety of crowns fashioned for her, and this one was unlike the others. It was dark, almost as if made out of wrought iron, with dark blue sapphires hanging within cages made from the dark metal. The entire crown was only a few inches high and looked especially dark, seated atop her honey hair.

Her dress was tailor-made for the occasion, designed from a midnight blue tafetta which stood out from her hips like a bell. The neckline was wideset on her shoulders, curving smoothly across her chest so as to reveal just the appropriate amount of skin without being indecent. Pearls bedecked the exquisite bodice of the dress, cascading like a waterfall around her chest and down to her waist. The collar was wide and stiff, situated around her neck like a horizontal fan decorated with handwoven thread patterns in the shape of silver leaves. Her sleeves poofed up over her shoulders, slimming until they reached her wrists. The double-layered sleeves were weighty, but it was a weight she could easily bear.

The entire weight of the dress was probably twenty pounds on its own, but the queen wore it effortlessly. Her body was designed for this sort of apparel. She'd been bred for this life, and as the queen, she couldn't escape it even if she'd wanted to.

Tilting her head forward, she clasped a pearl necklace around her neck, straightening the sapphire pendant at the base of her throat. Standing from her seat in front of the mirror, the dress crinkled and cascaded down to the floor, sounding like the crackling of a hundred fireplaces. Marching to the door, she paused at the threshold and gathered her mask - a midnight blue affair bedecked with sparkling gemstones and curling iron-like decorations around the edges - resting it carefully over her eyes before leaving the room.

Her ladies were standing ready in the common room, each of them dressed accordingly to the evening with their masks fixed over their faces, and Anne cast a smile across the group. Each of them complimented her appearance, and she graciously accepted the compliments before offering praise of her own. She truly did consider them her friends. Without their companionship, she would be very much alone.

Noticing Rebekah near the back of the group, she made a point to smile acceptingly at the blond. She'd been perturbed by her altercation with the girl's older brother days before, but that reflected little on Rebekah. She'd reminded herself of that fact since. Niklaus Mikaelson's behavior had nothing to do with his sister. Beckoning Rebekah forward through the group of titillating young women, she laced her arm through Rebekah's as the girl watched her curiously.

"No need to keep your distance, Rebekah," the queen informed her with a pleasant smile. "I've forgiven you."

Rebekah's relieved smile was genuine, and she gently squeezed Anne's arm with her own. Relief surged through her. Nik may want to anger the queen, but she didn't. She was quite enjoying her place here, and she was fitting in nicely. She didn't want to leave simply because he was a beast who couldn't control his tongue.

"Thank you, Anne," she replied, smiling once more before the queen released her arm and led the way from the chamber.

In the hallway beyond, a group of men were standing talking among themselves. As the queen arrived, they straightened and formed themselves into a line, and Rebekah was able to recognize they were musketeers. Their uniforms were clean and impeccable, and their formal hats rested on their heads. Feathers sprouted from the left side of each of their hats, and their masks for the occasion were simple black, leather. They were participating, but the message remained clear that they were the protection for the royal family.

Casting her eyes across the lot of them, Rebekah cursorily examined them with no specific intent. However, halfway down the line, she stopped as she realized one of the musketeers was watching her. His dark eyes met hers and he lifted his head slightly so his eyes caught the light in the hallway. She recognized him even with his mask on, realizing he was the same musketeer she'd seen in the gardens when she'd first joined the queen's ladies. This time, he didn't glance away as she caught him watching her, and she raised an eyebrow as she stared him down. A smirk curved the left side of his mouth, making his moustache curl in a contagious grin.

Rebekah knew she should disapprove of him watching her, as any well-behaved lady would, but she was not like the other girls in this group. Raising one eyebrow, she lifted her chin and broke their gaze as the king's voice caught her attention from several yards down the hallway.

" _Ma belle_!" Louis cried, obviously already having partaken of the spirits available for the night, as he marched toward his wife. Anne stiffened inwardly at the sight of him, but her face didn't give her away. She was also grateful to her mask for hiding most of her face.

" _Mon roi_ ," she greeted him genteely in return, holding out her hand for him to kiss as he arrived. Louis smiled broadly at her and offered her his arm before glancing around behind her at the ladies congregated nearby. Her stomach tightened and coiled like a snake hissing and ready to strike, but she kept her pleasant smile on her face. She was well-aware of the king's wandering gaze, and she reminded herself she didn't care. It wasn't as if he could replace her. She was the queen of France.

"You look... formidable, dear," Louis intoned, turning his attention back to her as he placed his hand over hers where it rested on his forearm. The touch was as political as it was endearing, and she raised her eyebrows. The expression was hidden by the midnight blue mask covering the upper half of her face, and she smiled proudly at his comment. Perhaps he hadn't meant it as a compliment, but she certainly took it that way. Beauty lasted one night. Indomitability was immortal.

" _Merci_ ," she answered him, knowing he was merely making polite conversation.

"You look every bit the king you are as well," she added. Louis took it as a compliment, evident by the way he drew himself up and his face puckered so he looked like an overjoyed ferret. The comment was actually a subtle barb, but he was too dense to realize as much, so she allowed him to believe whatever he chose to believe. Their relationship may not be romantic, but it was peaceful and that was important.

"I was disappointed by the absence of all of your naval ships," she admitted as he led her around a corner with her arm still laced through his. The procession of ladies and musketeers walked in two lines behind them, silence ruling over them as they walked in couples and allowed the king and queen to talk without interruption.

Louis's ears turned red as Anne paused, but she continued before he could reply angrily. "But I understand it is no fault of your own, my king," she noted, soothing his ego as only she knew best. Raising her eyebrows slightly, she bent her free arm and rested her free hand over the hand she had resting in the crook of his elbow. "A king with your power would surely do whatever he could for his queen, if there was anything he could do. Protecting our country is certainly the most important priority on your plate."

She was stoking his ego until she was afraid his head might burst, but it pleased him. While she'd always hated empty praise, she knew how her husband got on evenings like this one. Parties went to his head. He would carouse until the wee hours of the morning, with one woman or another; sometimes groups of them. Imagining such a thing sickened her, not because she was jealous but simply because she couldn't find it within herself to be so enamored with his presence as to want to give herself to him for hours at the time, and she pushed the thoughts away. If Louis was happy, then he would leave her alone and she wouldn't have to deal with him attempting to produce an heir with her. When he came to her, she wanted it to be in her time. The few nights they had spent together sexually were few and far between, and she was selfishly willing to give him space to have his affairs if it meant she was free of him. She knew she was a terrible wife for resisting - any good queen would willingly accept her husband into her chambers and wish to spend hours making love to him - but she tolerated him for short periods of time only. Eventually, she would produce an heir for him, but tonight was not that night.

The idea that Margot's child could belong to him didn't help matters any. She was turned off at the idea and desire for him to touch her had long fled. She'd never had an affair of her own although her husband was unfaithful. Revenge sex had never appealed to her either. She would rather be alone than act through an emotion instigated by someone else. She preferred all of her actions to be hers and hers alone, free from outside persuasion.

After several yards of silence with Louis practically bouncing in his own glow beside her, they finally reached the grand double doors leading into the ballroom. Music and light poured through the miniscule gap between the doors, and Anne felt excitement bubble up from the pit of her stomach into her chest. Her heart trilled excitedly, and she didn't resist the smile that lit her face. She truly did love parties.

The guards at the door each grasped an ornate handle and tugged the doors open, releasing the light and sound over the royal couple and their escorts. The gaiety from inside washed over her as Louis led her inside, and she allowed herself a moment to marvel at the beauty of the place. Servants had transformed the massive ballroom at her behest, and it glittered magically. The tone was entrancing, and she was thankful her mask covered her cheeks so no one nearby could see the excited flush of her cheeks. The child within her wanted to dance in glee at how beautiful the place was, but she refrained by dropping her gaze as a powerful, booming voice announced the arrival of the king and queen.

Everyone on either side of the aisle bowed from the waist, dropping their heads as the ruling couple swept gracefully past them. For a moment, Anne realized she saw more of the tops of her subjects' heads than she saw their faces. The thought was momentarily amusing, thanks to the light mood in the ballroom, and she stifled a giggle by biting down hard on her bottom lip.

"Let the festivities begin!" Louis cried, releasing her arm to throw his gloved hands in the air. The crowd rose in unison and cheered. Some ladies even threw their fans and the music began once more.

Louis chuckled, pleased with himself and the occasion, his dark eyes cast across the open dancing floor to a gaggle of noble ladies clustered along the far wall with their husbands. Looking up at him, Anne recognized the hungry glint in his eyes, and she ground her teeth together as he began smiling slightly. Attempting to cover his licentious intent, he leaned toward her and kissed her on her cheek just below the curve of her mask. She wanted to sniff in disgust at the wet touch of his lips, but she resisted.

"Have a wonderful evening, dear," he told her, squeezing her hand. "Save me a dance. I have some... business matters to attend."

Lifting her chin, she offered him an insincere smile, but he was too busy trying to escape to get to his baser pleasures to worry about her reaction. While part of her, the loyal wife everyone believed her to be, felt a pang of pain at his hurry to get away from her, the larger part of her was relieved.

She still had the issue with Margot to take care of, and she couldn't do so with Louis lingering all night. She rarely danced at these affairs anyway, so 'saving' a dance for him wouldn't be hard. Eventually, they would dance to show the country (those assembled anyway) how very much in love they were, even if it was all just for show. For now, she was free to mingle with her guests and to enjoy the beauty of the party she'd arranged.

Glancing away from the direction Louis had disappeared, she scanned the crowd. Everyone was wearing masks, as they were instructed to, so it was a bit difficult to recognize anyone. That didn't deter her, however. She had plenty of time on her hands.

" _Bonjour, madame_."

The voice was instantly recognizable, and it instantly curdled her blood. Slowly, she turned her head until she was looking directly at none other than the one man she couldn't seem to shake off even when she tried.


	10. Chapter 10

"Lord Niklaus," she stated flatly, attempting to sound as disinterested as she felt. "I suppose I should have guessed you would be here. Everyone in the parrish was invited, after all."

He smiled, a dark light glinting in his eyes behind the black mask he wore over the top half of his face. The mask was matte black and curved viciously around his eyes. As he turned his head, the mask threw an optical illusion that made it look as if horns curved out of his temples, but when he turned back to look at her, Anne was convinced she'd only imagined it. His entire outfit was black, even the lace of his shirt which emerged through the neckline of his dresscoat.

"Are you still so unwilling for my company?" he asked her, the words sounding irritated although he was still smiling.

She raised her eyebrows, but knowing he couldn't see the expression, she lifted her chin for added emphasis. "I simply wonder why you are so intent for mine."

He shifted his weight which inexplicably brought him closer to her until his presence was like pressure against her right shoulder even though he didn't touch her. He simply seemed to hover there, taunting her with his presence.

"Call me curious," he amended, crossing his hands in front of himself and rolling his shoulders back as he straightened and looked out across the dancefloor.

She knew why he was here. There could only be one reason. He wanted to goad her again, and it perturbed her. He knew she was desperate for an answer to her predicament, and he knew she had no other options. It wasn't that she hadn't tried. She'd searched everywhere within the city for an available ship. There was simply nothing available.

And she couldn't wait a month.

The crooked smirk on Klaus's face made her wonder for a moment if he could read her mind. She pointedly looked away from him and glared across the dancefloor, resisting the urge to entertain him with her attention.  
  
"Your silence confirms my suspicions," he noted, rocking forward onto his toes and back to his heels as if attempting to contain his glee over her situation.  
  
"There's only one reason why you're here, Mister Mikaelson," she snapped in a low voice, turning to glare at him. She purposely ignored his goads, knowing he was trying to aggravate her. She wouldn't give in even if he'd unintentionally succeeded already.  
  
"Is that so?" he asked, feigning innocence.  
  
Drawing herself up, she looked down her nose at him, the jewels on her black crown dancing in the gleaming lights above them. "I've already informed you before: I am well-acquainted with your kind. You know I'm at a loss and have nowhere else to turn."  
  
She hated to admit it, but there was no point lying about it. If her former lady-in-waiting wasn't evacuated soon, then the entire show would be over. She had no more time to play coy or to toy with her own pride.  
  
"So what is it that you want? What measure of eternal servitude do you intend to reduce me to in return for your benevolent assistance?" Her tone was mocking and disdainful, sharper than anyone had ever heard her. There was no one near enough to hear her besides him, and she didn't care what this man thought of her.  
  
Klaus smiled just as the crowd around them began clapping, signaling the end of a song. Dancers poured from the floor, leaving it wide open and ready for the next number. Anne glared up at him, impatiently awaiting his terms, and his smirk enraged her. Once again she found herself wondering how satisfactory it would feel to smack him across his needlessly handsome face.  
  
"A dance," he answered finally, leaning toward her slightly as he said it.  
  
The comment caught her off guard, confusing her. Furrowing her brow, she shook her head slightly and drew her chin back as she looked at him in consternation.

"A dance?" she repeated in disbelief.  
  
" _Oui_ ," he answered, glancing toward the dancefloor and then back to her, cocking his head slightly. "Share one dance with me, and I will give you one of my ships: any of my ships you desire."  
  
Anne narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. This was too good to be true. One dance was all she had to trade for the answer to her predicament? That didn't sound right. However, Klaus shifted his weight and offered her his hand, sensing she didn't trust him enough to link her arm through his elbow. They weren't friends, after all.  
  
Still watching him doubtfully, she slowly rested her gloved hand in his, touching him with the least amount of pressure possible. "One dance, and then we're done," she clarified, wanting to hear the confirmation from his lips again.  
  
He nodded as they stepped out onto the floor, and he led her to the center so they were positioned beneath the massive, glittering chandelier above. Turning toward her, he offered her his hands in an impeccable stance, and she warily accepted by slipping her hands into his and straightening her back. Distantly, she noticed no one bothered to join them on the floor as the orchestra began the first bars of the musical number, but she was too focused on watching him like a hawk to register the fact that they were the only pair on the dancefloor.  
  
"The only catch is..." he began, his voice dropping low as he suddenly dropped his right hand and tugged her toward him, surprising her and breaking her poise for a moment so she stumbled a step forward and was suddenly held against him with her other hand twisted up behind her back so she couldn't escape. "You have to keep up."  
  
Her light blue-green eyes lit up with the challenge, and she ground her teeth together. She was the best dancer in all of France. "I am the queen of France, _monsieur_ ," she pointed out proudly as he pulled against her hands, leading her backward in a smooth step which matched the growing tempo of the music. "Perhaps it is you who will have to keep up with me."  
  
Suddenly, the dance was less of a dance between business partners and more of a competition. She could feel it in the way his body tensed for battle, and her own spine went rigid. Every movement became precise and calculated, slipping into graceful perfection with the music.  
  
The song began simple enough but quickly built to triple time, and the heart-pounding music filled her ears along with the rush of blood into her head. The angry rustling of her tafetta dress was drowned out by the music and their movements, defeated by the precision maneuvers of her slender legs.  
  
He untwisted her arm and spun her away from him, giving her the freedom to tear her hand from his as she reached the full length of her arm. Straightening to her full height, her now-free hand cut downward and her fingers grasped the heavy midnight blue fabric of her skirt, bunching it in the fist of her hand. Lifting it so her feet were offered more space, she turned her back to him and instantly felt the heat of his chest almost pressed against her shoulder blades. The width of the curvature of her collar around her neck was the only distance between them as he arrived behind her, leaving only three inches at best.  
  
How inappropriate, her brain distantly told her, reminding her of her life-long training to be a lady. But the wilder, impetuous side of her stamped her reason back. She had to win. This dance was more than just a dance. This was every bit a challenge which must be won.  
  
Klaus's fingers ran down the inside of her arm, starting at her elbow, and she turned her head, staring unseeing at the floor past the tips of her fingers. She could feel the trails of his fingers beneath her glove as if he was burning her bare skin, and she glared angrily at the floor as he laced his fingers around her hand, imprisoning it.  
  
He spun her then, his strength surprising her, but she took it in stride and tilted her head back to relieve the pressure between her eyes as she spun. Her dark blue dress became a tempest of motion in the center of the massive dancefloor, turning her into a spiraling storm of midnight blue and iron. Dipping her chin, she intentionally slowed the spin, silently communicating that he had not won.  
  
Coming to a stop in time with the fast-paced music, she met Klaus's gaze and saw the fiery light of irritation there. A smirk passed over her lips now, a mischievous look few had ever seen. He would not win this war without a fight.  
  
Determined, Klaus grabbed her hands and thrust her away from him so she was at arms-length before he tugged her back in an equally graceful motion, spinning her as he did so her back was against his chest again. Her arms were crossed in front of her now, preventing her escape, and she glared behind her mask. The statement was clear: this moment was his victory.  
  
The music built to a wild tempo, matching the erratic beating of her heart and the insistence which simmered beneath the surface of her skin. She'd never felt so on-edge, so invigorated and simultaneously agitated. She felt alive, but it was coupled with a driving desire to be victorious.  
  
Sensing the crescendo of the song, she took advantage of his momentary hubris to spin away from him again. Halting herself as the instruments released their victory cry, she threw her arms in a graceful arch above her her and tossed her head back, her back arching and her dress pooling around her to consume the floor at her feet. She was no longer imagining specified dance moves she'd been taught as a young girl, but her body moved on its own in the way it found appropriate.  
  
Suddenly, she felt pressure against the small of her back, and her head fell back toward the floor until her curls brushed the taffeta on the train of her dress. Instinctively, she grasped for support, momentarily afraid she was falling. The fingers of her right hand clasped around the silken fabric of Klaus's handwoven coat as her left arm draped perfectly along the back of his shoulders as she reacted to balance herself.  
  
Her head was back and she didn't realize her eyes were closed until she noticed the music had stopped and the gathered crowd was clapping wildly. Her eyes flew open and she surged upward, unintentionally falling into Klaus's arms as he still had his arm around her back to support her. The din of the clapping onlookers deafened her in the wake of the dance, and her chest rose and fell rapidly as the adrenaline began to fade. Her lips parted as she looked up at him, confusedly enraptured in a moment with this man she'd convinced herself she despised.  
  
They were standing too close. They were staring at each other for too long. Her breaths were coming too fast. Her heart was beating too quickly.  
  
Her brain screamed all of the inappropriate behaviors she was exhibiting, but her knees felt like pudding at the thought of pulling away from him. He watched her with his glinting blue eyes, captivating her. The moment seemed to drag on forever, and her cheeks flushed beneath her mask, whether from the exertion of the dance or something else, she wasn't sure.  
  
"Merci, my queen," he spoke suddenly, breaking the moment with the chilled snap of his voice. "A ship will be waiting for you in the morning."  
  
With that, he released her and practically pushed her away from him, turning her so she was facing the people rimming the dancefloor who were still clapping in appreciation for the dance they'd just witnessed.  
  
Anne recovered in a moment, her training and poise returning to support her in the blink of an eye. She was accustomed to disguising emotion with aplomb, and the habit returned to her like an old friend through the haze of her confusion. Feeling as if a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped over her head, she forced a brilliant smile onto her face and curtseyed in appreciation for the applause.  
  
The crowd parted and spit out the king who was clapping his hands and advancing toward her with a wide grin on his pinched face. She examined his expression for any sign of displeasure, but there was none. Glancing to her side, she realized she was alone on the dancefloor, her partner having disappeared without a sound.  
  
Klaus's departure lit a fire of irritation within her, anger replacing the confused jumble of emotions she'd felt as their dance ended and she'd hung in his grasp. It was much easier to be irritated with him than to sort through some ridiculous sensations which had only been extracted by the adrenaline of dancing. She was being silly to even imagine such an animalistic notion, and she shook her head slightly before returning to reality and offering the king a smile as he arrived.  
  
Louis took her hand, pulling her against his side to praise her for her performance. She recalled nothing of what he said, but she smiled pleasantly for the crowd until they dispersed and the music started back up.  
  
"May I have this dance?" Louis asked, offering his hand and grinning drunkenly.  
  
Politely shying away from him, she gave him a sweet smile and gently folded his fingers in to his palm and away from her. "I'm quite tired, Louis," she replied, using his first name in an attempt to render endearment from him. It worked as he smiled childishly at her.  
  
"Please, offer my dance to another young lady who could better use it," she implored him, gently pushing him off toward the court women who would be overjoyed to share a dance with the king.  
  
As for the queen, she felt drained and in need of some fresh air.


	11. Chapter 11

Narrowing her eyes as she watched her older brother and the queen in the middle of the dancefloor, Rebekah glanced sideways through the crowd looking for Elijah. Everyone congregated near the edge of the floor, riveted on Klaus dancing with the queen as if they'd never seen two people dance together before. Preoccupied as they were, it was easy enough for her to find her oldest brother standing several yards away.

Cutting her gaze back to Klaus's show, she glared after them for a moment before a small, dark smirk curled the side of her mouth. She was still miffed with him for spoiling the queen's secret for his own gain, but now she had a plan to get even with him. Nik was always winning these petty little arguments between them, but not this time.

Slipping gracefully through the crowd as everyone was thoroughly distracted by the queen and her dancing partner, Rebekah arrived beside Elijah, a soft smile on her lips. Her golden mask made her hair look like polished gold and accentuated her blue eyes. Her tulle dress was wide and fluffy, the pale blue reminiscent of the afternoon sky and the blue of her eyes. She looked like she was floating on a cloud as she arrived at her eldest brother's side, her hands resting comfortably intertwined in front of her.

"They dance exquisitely," she commented quietly, and Elijah smiled as he nodded in agreement.

"For all of his recalcitrance, Niklaus does fit in nicely into society when he puts forth an effort," Elijah agreed, lifting the glass of wine in his hand to his lips.

"Mayhap he is fitting in... too well," she added, raising her eyebrows slightly. Her golden mask covered only her eyes so her eyebrows lifted above the gilded edge and exaggerated her expression even more.

A crease formed between Elijah's eyebrows for a moment, but a wry smile settled on his face. "You sound almost envious, sister," he commented, glancing away from the dancers to look down at her before he took another sip of his drink.

She half-laughed, half-snorted and looked away from him as she shrugged her left shoulder upward. "I wouldn't say I'm envious..."

"I would," Kol commented as he arrived behind her, leaning his head over her shoulder and taunting her before moving to her other side. Elijah watched him for a moment, most likely assessing his condition for anything out of order, and then looked away when all appeared in line.

Rebekah glared openly at her brother, the heat in her glare toned down by the golden mask over her eyes, and Kol ignored her as he grinned broadly.  He held a glass filled with a dark liquid, and as she drew in a breath through her nose, she realized he was drinking blood from a wine glass.

"You're jealous you're not the center of attention, Bekah," Kol clarified, looking over at her as he took a deep sip from his glass of blood. She sneered as she looked at his drink and then up into his eyes. He irascibly smirked at her as he licked his lips and held the glass out to offer her a drink. Holding up a hand, she drew her chin back and turned her face away from him. Like always, Kol showed up at precisely the wrong time to mess up her plans.

Leaning closer to Elijah, she ignored Kol and entreated their oldest brother. "This has nothing to do with how I feel," she clarified sharply with a slight shake of her head which made the curls pinned to the back of her head bounce. "Rather, it seems to have everything to do with how Nik feels."

Elijah frowned again, clearly not following her line of thought. Before she lost him in his confusion, she continued, glancing pointedly toward the dancefloor as the song abruptly came to a finish. Klaus's arm was around the queen's back as he dipped her to the floor, her arms wrapped around him in a familiar way that was quite unbecoming in polite company. Elijah lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes as the dancers stood and stared at one another for a long, charged moment. Rebekah smiled; this was going to be easier than she'd thought.

"Has Nik taken a liking to the queen?" Kol asked, his voice lilting playfully behind her. She wondered if he was playing along with her, or if he was merely being his characteristically irascible self. Either way, his commentary was helping her plan so she didn't shush him.

Elijah breathed out an audible sigh through his nose as Klaus disappeared through the crowd and the king greeted the queen where she stood alone on the dancefloor. Rebekah didn't know what was going through her oldest brother's brain, so she decided to feed his doubt more.

Shrugging her shoulders upward slightly, Rebekah pursed her lips and ran the tips of her fingers on her left hand over the tip of her right thumb as if she was deep in thought. "It could be nothing... but he does love a challenge," she noted conversationally. Behind her right shoulder, Kol nodded in agreement and tilted the rest of his glass upward so he could down the rest of his blood drink.

"Nik loves nothing better than a challenge," he added, and Rebekah recognized the helpful tone in his voice. She didn't know why, but Kol was playing along with her game.

Ignoring her skepticism about Kol's intentions, she looked back at Elijah as he watched the queen leave the ballroom by herself. "Perhaps our brother's umbrage with the queen is not so based on dislike but on something... else," Rebekah finished, her eyebrows raised pointedly.

Elijah glanced at her, and she noticed the light of comprehension in his eyes. A soft smile teased at the corner of her mouth, so she pursed her lips again and feigned a worried look as she met her brother's gaze.

"If Niklaus has become infatuated with the queen, then that could certainly pose a threat to our peaceful existence here," Elijah commented, and Rebekah resisted dancing in glee as he caught on to the thread where she was leading him.  She nodded vigorously and Kol stepped up between them to rest his arm across Elijah's shoulders as he leaned in conspiratorially.

"What ever will we do?!" he asked incredulously, biting his bottom lip. Rebekah stifled the urge to giggle by glaring at Kol. His overacting could spoil their entire ploy, but Elijah seemed too distracted to notice.

"Something must certainly be done," Elijah confirmed, raising his gaze from where he'd been staring thoughtfully into the flowing fabric of Rebekah's skirt at his feet. Looking from one of them to the other, he nodded slightly as if he'd come to a conclusion. "I'm only sorry I hadn't noticed this before."

Distractedly, he extricated himself from Kol's arm and turned, excusing himself politely before leaving the ballroom. The two remaining siblings stood together as they watched him disappear through the double door entry before Rebekah turned to Kol and fixed him with a hard look. When he turned to meet her eyes, a half-smirk had turned his face into its characteristic mischievous mask.

"What are you doing?" she asked him suspiciously, planting her hands on her hips.

"Don't get so defensive, dear sister," he replied, absently handing his empty glass to a passing servant before he turned back to smile at her. "If you plan to make Nik's life a living hell, then I want a part of the action."

She raised her chin and examined him down the length of her nose. "I don't want to make his life a living hell... I just want to repay him for making the queen angry with me."

Kol chuckled and stepped toward her, leaning in and dipping his head so he was looking at her out of the top of his dark eyes. Reaching out, he snatched her elbow in his hand and smirked knowingly at her. "You can be a spiteful thing, sister. You should enjoy it instead of resisting it." His eyebrows raised suggestively before he released her and pulled out his sleeves, straightening them down to his wrists.

"I am a lady," she argued dispassionately, unwillingly accepting he was right. She did want to spite her older brother, and she didn't feel remorseful about it. Klaus was always interfering in her life. She felt he was due with a little interference from her to make them even. 

A dark smile spread over her lips, mirroring Kol's. He was a devil, but he was right. She would enjoy this.


	12. Chapter 12

The Original sister was filled with a sensation akin to victoriousness as she stood alone in the adrenalized crowd filling the ballroom. Kol had long-since departed to indulge in vices of his own, leaving Rebekah alone in her spiteful plans against their older brother. Elijah was already on the case, to give Klaus a hard time in his own way, completely guileless to Rebekah's machinations. Elijah knew how spiteful she could get, but she'd successfully convinced him that Nik was becoming enamored with the queen and must be stopped.

 

Of course, she knew that was ridiculous, as did Kol. While their brother may be attracted to a challenge - a challenge the queen certainly represented - Rebekah didn't believe he was capable of actually loving anyone more than himself. And she was quite certain he didn't even love himself.

 

She'd been at his side during those 52 years of mental anguish the Hunters' Curse had enacted on him. She'd personally been torn to shreds, attacked, bitten, cried on, and much more. Five centuries couldn't erase those years. She doubted she would ever forget them.

 

There was a raging level of guilt she felt for that entire ordeal. She'd allowed Alexander in to her life. She'd allowed him into her bed and into her heart. The naive girl she'd still been then, even though she'd been a vampire for decades before meeting him, was convinced he wanted to marry her and live out his life by her side.  Five hundred years hadn't smoothed over the heart-rending betrayal which had torn her heart in two. The pain of a hundred magical daggers couldn't surpass the pain she'd unintentionally inflicted on herself - and her entire family - as a result of her recklessness.

 

Of all of the Mikaelson siblings, Rebekah prided herself on being able to read people. She'd always been able to tell when someone was lying, but she hadn't seen it in Alexander. Perhaps it was because she was in love with him, and that love had clouded her judgement, but she didn't like to think that was the reason. She hoped she would be wiser than that sort of thing, but hindsight was much stronger than foresight.

 

Since that time, she'd been almost as paranoid as Klaus where her love life was concerned. Men were toys or food or entertainment, but nothing more. She hadn't allowed herself to love since.  She hadn't allowed anyone close to her since. Deep inside, she was flagellating herself for almost destroying her family. The words Klaus screamed at her that night as she shook in tears in his arms still echoed in the back of her mind, all of these years later.  She'd trusted Alexander over her brothers. She'd been a fool.   She made a silent promise to herself never to be so foolish again.

 

She had no way of knowing that her loving heart would melt and concede as the years went on, or what her future would hold for both love and betrayal. There was no way she could know the prophecies of her long life, and she didn't wish to know.

 

Lost in thought, a shifting in the crowd before her broke her slowly out of her daydreaming and she realized the king was inexorably making his way through the bodies of his guests, heading directly toward her. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she desperately looked for an escape route, but the crowd of partygoers was too thick around her. Sure, she could push all of them aside with the flick of her wrist, but that would draw more attention than she was willing to compel away just to escape the licentious intent of the king. While Klaus's dare still hung in the back of her mind, she wasn't in the mood to play games with Louis tonight. The freshness of Anne's pain over the Margot situation was enough to turn Rebekah off of the game for now.

 

However, her unwillingness toward his company wasn't stopping him, and his beady little eyes were trained on her like a wolf hunting down his prey. She hated being watched that way, hated feeling like an animal in a man's eyes, and in her mildly inebriated state, she was half-tempted to show him just how powerful she was. Deep down, she knew that was stupid and reckless and if a lynch mob didn't get to her first, then Elijah would certainly finish her off.

 

Before her brain had time to debate the scandal of murder versus escape, a figure stepped in front of her, sufficiently blocking her view of the king of France. Blinking in confusion, she frowned as she lifted her gaze and looked directly into the face of the Musketeer she'd noticed watching her earlier.

 

"Take my hand and dance with me now before he gets here," he spoke succinctly, his French accent rich and smooth like a fine wine.  Without a thought, she slipped her gloved fingers into the man's palm and he kept himself between her and the king as he gracefully led her through the crowd toward the dance floor.

 

Glancing past the musketeer’s shoulder, she noticed Louis frowning childishly, his prey nabbed before he could catch her. An amused smile lit up Rebekah's face and she had to resist the urge to laugh out loud.

 

"There's a smile," the Musketeer spoke, leading her all the way to the dance floor, "You don't seem to do that often."

 

They'd reached the floor, and she balked for a moment – she wasn’t really in the mood to dance at all - but if she openly resisted that would mean 1) dealing with Louis who wouldn't surely give up his hunt for her and 2) possibly embarrassing herself. She was a lady, even better at all of this societal nonsense than Elijah was when she put her mind to it.

 

Dancing seemed to be the only thing which would relieve her from the king's grabby hands, so she acquiesced with her head held high and her back straight. Glancing up at the musketeer as he stepped in front of her and offered her his hands, she offered him an endearing smile which would look perfectly happy and pleasant to anyone watching them.

 

"That's not it," he noted, and her smile faltered for a moment as he gracefully led her into a sweeping waltz matching the music.

 

" _Excusez-moi_?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she looked into his dark eyes. He still wore the simple leather mask every Musketeer wore tonight, but his eyes sparkled beneath the swooping brim of his hat.  She hadn't intended to talk to him at all; this was merely a respite from Louis's advances. The striking of a conversation threw her off guard for a moment.

 

"That smile... that wasn't the one, not the real one," he noted, tilting his head back slightly so the light from the room spilled beneath the brim of his hat and danced across his chin before disappearing as he smiled at her and his face was cast back into shadow.

 

Rebekah audibly sniffed. "What do you know about my smile?" She looked away from him, frowning sardonically and rolling her eyes. Her golden mask helped to hide some of her less than ladylike expressions.

 

"It only shows itself on weekends and holidays and never around the king," he noted, smiling amusedly. Recognizing he was teasing her, she cut her eyes to him and resisted the urge to smile although it tugged powerfully at the corners of her mouth. He was trying so desperately to be charming, and he was clearly interested in her since she'd caught him watching her more than once of the past few weeks.  She realized he was the same musketeer she'd seen during her first few days in the queen's service when they'd been racing in the gardens.

 

"Who are you to know so much about me and my facial expressions?" she asked, blithely. She shouldn't be playing along, but perhaps he would make a nice snack. She had been wondering if Kol was right about the blue ones tasting better than Cardinal Richelieu's red guards anyway. She'd consider it for science.

 

"I know nothing about you," he admitted. Gently he released his hold on her hand but kept his hand around her back, continuing to dance with her as he reached up to pull his mask from his face. By showing his face, it was clear he meant to hide nothing from her, but she wasn’t willing to trust so easily. Her hurt was too deep, the memory of betrayal too raw. Once the black leather dropped away, his handsome face was fully in view, and she wished she wasn't as impressed as she was. She prided herself on hiding her emotions, and she hoped she was successful now.

 

 

Some men looked foolish with only a moustache and a tuft of hair in the cleft of their chin, but his face held it well. His eyes were so brown they were almost black, but his gaze was simultaneously kind and sultry. The curves in his face were defined but not so much so that he looked gaunt, and his jawline was so chiseled, it looked as if it could cut her. His brown hair curled defiantly out from beneath his hat where it rested above his ears, and, as his smirk grew, it was crooked and mischievous in a way she realized she liked.

 

But she couldn't like him. She wouldn't like him. He was merely another instrument in her potential destruction. She wouldn't become a lovesick fool over a handsome face. She was Rebekah Mikaelson, the Original sister and immortal vampire.  Her expression hardened and she lifted her chin as he took her hand again. The leather mask was between their palms now, further separating them and that pleased her.

 

"You're right. You know don't know me," she agreed, her tone frosty. Looking back up at him, her eyes glinted threateningly. She knew he recognized the expression by the slight way he frowned in response. "You've been following me around for weeks."

 

The man had the gall to laugh out loud in response. His laughter was like a deep, rich bell, and her eyes widened as he chuckled heartily at her comment. Irritation spiked in her chest and a flash of heat ran across the bridge of her nose as she glared openly at him.  When he recovered from his laughter, he shook his head which made the feather in his hat wave gracefully in the air as he looked back at her.

 

"I am a royal musketeer: servant to the king," he clarified, the amused light still shining in his eyes. Leaning slightly toward her, he screwed up his face in a playful expression. "I have to go wherever the king goes. You go wherever the queen goes. If the king and the queen are together..."  He raised his eyebrows and scrunched his nose, trailing off so she could complete the sentence on her own.

 

"You think highly of yourself, don't you?" he asked her, smiling that irascible, crooked smile again.

 

"You deny you've watched me enough to recognize a difference in my smiles," she pointed out, ignoring his question about her ego and her mild embarrassment about her assumption that he’d been following her.  Of course she thought highly of herself. She was one of the four most powerful creatures in this castle. She could tear him apart in a few seconds flat, not giving him the opportunity to think twice. She wouldn't because she wasn't a monster, but she could. There was nothing under the sun she felt she couldn't do.

 

Looking back up at him, she fixed him with a hard look. "I don't particularly care for your commentary on my life," she informed him coldly.

 

Pulling his chin back, his dark eyes widened slightly and he snorted softly. "Your moods seem as mercurial as your smiles," he responded. She half-expected him to be disgusted with her, to be so turned off by her response to him that he would leave her alone. Deep down, she knew this was her defense mechanism. It was easy enough to turn a man away. Very few of them enjoyed a fight.  However, he seemed appropriately disgruntled by her reaction but not so much as to be disgusted with her. Strange... most men didn't like a woman who argued.  That was why she didn't like most men.

 

"I'm still a bit confused why you think I care what you think about the quality of my moods or otherwise," she retorted smoothly, holding her chin high as he lifted his hand and spun her beneath his arm before catching her so they were facing one another again.  "I don't even know your name - nor have I voiced the desire to learn it - and I'm fairly certain you don't know mine so why--"

 

"Aramis," he replied simply, his crooked grin soft in the left corner of his mouth now. Her pique at his interest didn't seem unnoticed; he merely wasn't affronted by it. Perhaps he wasn't as obsessed with her as she'd first tried to accuse him. 

 

"And you are Lady Rebekah, yes?" he asked, dipping his head slightly. She didn't respond, but she breathed out a sharp breath through her nose so it almost sounded like a snort.

 

"Yes, you are," he answered for her, straightening his back as he led her into another spin which matched the tempo of the music. "You see, my lady, I am one of the king's musketeers. It is my job to easily recognize the people who live in this castle, and who frequent it. It is also within my responsibilities to protect those people.

 

"While I'm certain you would stubbornly refuse any protection I, or my fellow Musketeers, would offer you, it remains within our code of honor. Please excuse me if me doing my job offends your delicate sensibilities," Aramis commented. The thread of sardonicism was there in his tone, but his words were polite.  He was more adept at navigating a barbed conversation than she'd given him credit for.

 

"Does it disappoint you that I may not be the wolfish rapscallion you first believed me to be?" This time his tone was playful, and she resisted the urge to smile as he grinned at her.

 

"Perhaps I misjudged you," she admitted, training her eyes over his shoulder as they waltzed and refusing to look him in the eye. Her chin was held high and her back was straight. Her posture was impeccable and every inch of her exuded feminine supremacy.

 

" _Oui_ , perhaps you did," he agreed with the hint of a smile, spinning her out and away from him as the dance ended.

 

Releasing her hand, he repositioned his leather mask over his eyes and glanced past her to notice the king stood watching her from the other end of the dance floor. Following his glance as he fixed his mask, Rebekah scowled and had to dig her fingertips into the palms of her hands to resist the anger that welled up within her. If she didn't seduce the king, then she would lose her bet with Klaus. In light of her recent anger with her brother after what he'd done by telling the queen Rebekah had leaked her secret, Rebekah wasn't eager to lose their bet.

 

However, even the idea of manipulating Louis left a bitter taste in her mouth right now. She could clearly see Anne's drawn face as she'd admitted her husband's indiscretions. She didn't imagine the queen was desperately in love with her husband, but there was still a pact there that had been made. The king had disrespected that and made it defunct. Now Anne was reduced to being little more than a breeding sow and that disgusted Rebekah. She believed in strong women, not women who were subject to how a man dignified them, and she knew the queen well enough to know she agreed.

 

Her distaste was obvious on her face as Aramis looked away from the king and back at her. Holding out his elbow, he gave her a pointed expression. "Do you trust me?"

 

Looking up at him, she raised an eyebrow. "Why should I?"

 

He smiled knowingly and motioned with his head in Louis's direction. "It's no small secret I'm not the only one who's noticed your devastating beauty," he commented, both complimenting her and teasing her.

 

Sighing inwardly, she glanced across the dance floor again. Louis stood in a group of young women who clambered around him, wanting his attention. He ignored them as he sipped from yet another glass of alcohol and watched Rebekah across the floor. She'd never felt so disrespected in her life, and it enraged her. For a moment, the briefest flash of a breath, his eyes on her made her feel soiled and that added to her anger.

 

Looking back up at Aramis, her blue eyes were harder than she'd intended but he didn't shrink at the coldness of her gaze. "I don't have a reason to trust you, but you give me an excuse to get away from him. Let's go," she half-ordered, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her from the ballroom and away from the king.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Tearing a handful of leaves off of the nearest shrubbery, she threw them with a small yell of frustration. She was disappointed when they floated blithely to the ground instead of flying across the garden, and she snorted angrily as she planted her hands on her hips.

 

Sitting on a stone bench nearby, his arm rested comfortably over his knee which was propped up beside him, Aramis smiled and plucked the last petal from the flower he was holding before tossing the naked stem over his shoulder into the bushes. "You should be nicer to the agriculture," he commented amusedly, but Rebekah ignored him.

 

Fuming in silence, she glared out across the dark, expansive garden which was only illuminated by the silver glow of the full moon overhead. Her hands were in fists resting on her hips and her jaw was set angrily. She'd discarded her golden mask on the bench beside the musketeer, and she'd been angrily assaulting plants since they'd come out here. She'd needed some fresh air to work off the aggravation the king had beset on her.

 

"Shush," she ordered him, and he chuckled softly to himself as he shifted his weight. He picked her mask up off of the stone before straightening his feet out across the bench and leaning back against the curved arm of the seat. Setting the mask on his chest, he rested his head in his hands and tilted back so he was looking up at the moon overhead.

 

"You've been pummeling petunias and clobbering carnations since we came out here," Aramis noted, glancing at her out of the side of his eyes. "Don't you think it's time you gave the poor things a rest?"

 

He laughed as she snatched another handful of leaves from a nearby shrub and threw them at him. This time, the leaves flew more according to her will and landed in his face and hair so he sputtered out foliage as he tried to stop laughing.

 

His laughter was contagious even though she was still angry, and as she was unable to stop smiling, she looked away from him to hide it. She shouldn't be throwing such a fit. She could handle Louis with ease. She could just compel him to be disinterested, but that would mean she lost the bet instantly. Frustrated and wildly competitive, she was at an impasse. Only her revenge against Klaus would soothe the spitefulness within her.

 

She knew she was being a brat, but she didn't care.

 

"Is this really about the king?" Aramis asked her suddenly, and she turned toward him, surprised he would ask such a thing.  He was more intuitive than she'd expected, and it caught her off guard.

 

His question deflated her anger slightly, and her shoulders relaxed as her hands fell to her sides. Releasing an audible sigh she had to push out of her airless lungs, she turned slightly toward him, glancing at him before looking away. "It's mostly him," she admitted, not trusting the musketeer enough to pour her heart out to him. There wasn't a way she could adequately explain her family's dynamic anyway, even if she tried.

 

"He's a debauched beast," she growled, glaring into the darkness again.  Focusing her anger on Louis was easier than directing her anger at her brothers. She would be with stuck with them for the entirety of her long life: always and forever.  It was both a blessing and a curse.

 

Aramis brought her out of her thoughts as he snorted and nodded in agreement. "It's not a secret. Everyone knows it, the musketeers probably better than anyone," he admitted, swinging his feet off of the bench and planting his boots on the gravelly ground again.

 

Rebekah turned to look at him, narrowing her eyes with interest. He continued even though she didn't prompt him. Perhaps he sensed she was unwilling to talk about herself, so he filled in the gaps with his extroverted personality.

 

"He's a young king and bred to believe everything in the world is his to treat fairly or poorly at his behest," he described, resting his elbows on his knees and balling his hands up in front of him, the fingers of his left hand massaging the backs of the knuckles on his right hand.  "But he is our king, and despite his personal flaws, he is a good ruler. The country is safe and prosperous. Is there more we could ask for?"

 

She was unsure if he was truly asking her or if he was musing mostly to himself, so she didn't answer. There was a moment of silence between them, but this time it didn't feel uncomfortable to her.

 

Men didn't typically speak to her this way. They were conditioned by their society to believe women were stupid, designed for reproduction and companionship only when a man demanded it. As a vampire who'd lived five centuries, this ideal had become a thorn in her side. She was as intelligent as her brothers and far wiser than the human men she'd met over the past five hundred years. Being corralled into a category of weak, helpless creatures was not in the purview of images she imagined for her life.

 

Whether it was intentional or not, Aramis's musing showed her more respect than any man had done for her in quite some time. Even her brothers tended to talk down to her - all except Kol who reveled in her anger and fiery spirit and quite enjoyed seeing her snap at Elijah and Klaus when they were out of line - and they often treated her as part of their property as much as their sister.

 

But this man who didn't know her and had only seen her from afar, spoke to her as a human, an equal. She hadn't been human in five hundred years, but she felt more like one now than she had in all of that time.  The gratitude she felt for such a small thing rose slowly through her like a cleansing flush of coolness and she stepped through the gravel until she reached the bench where he sat.

 

Her blue tulle dress looked silver in the moonlight, and it engulfed most of the bench as she sunk down beside him. The fabric spilled over his left knee, and he lifted his chin to watch it settle as she sat. Reaching out, he gently touched the tulle with the tips of his fingers as if brushing his hand tenderly across the rays of the moon. 

 

"You love him, not in the way a man loves a woman, but as a soldier who is faithful to his master," she pointed out, resting her hands in her lap as she watched the moonlight outlining the chiseled lines of his face. "He is your king, and even when he isn't the finest specimen of humanity, you are still devoted."

 

"Is that honor?" Aramis asked her, smirking slightly, a touch of some sort of sadness behind his eyes. He turned his head and looked at her through the tops of his eyes, a gentle crooked smile on his handsome face.

 

"I think it is," she replied, finally relaxing enough to return his smile.

 

Straightening, his lips parted and he breathed, and she could hear the steady _thump thump_ of his heart as he flattening his palms out on the tops of his knees. His elbows were out at his sides as he turned to look out across the dark garden.  Rebekah was struck with how human he was as he sat there, devoted to a sovereign who was flawed and unlikable because it was within his code of honor and he believed in something greater. He may be cheeky and flirtatious, but she sensed this man had a great heart.

 

Relaxing more, she allowed the thrumming of his heart to fill her ears as she turned and gazed out across the garden. Her fingers absently played with the rough tulle across her lap, and she allowed herself to become lost in the simple humanity of a heartbeat. There were times, like this one, when the night air was cool against her porcelain skin and the earth was at rest, when she missed being human. She missed simplicity and mortality, the frailty of a life that was sure to end versus the stone body she existed within.

 

Glancing down at her wrists, she saw the skin she'd seen for five centuries, the same mold she'd been since the day she'd been brutally born, from blood and abuse, as a vampire.  Nothing had changed on her skin since she had no tattoos or scars. She looked as soft as velvet, but she was as strong as marble and harder to break.  Her heart had become the same, a stone protected by indestructible iron armor.  There wasn't anything soft about her anymore, and she missed it. She'd allowed it all to be stamped out of her through a collection of abuses over her long life - her father, her brothers, Alexander - and now she was the cold shell of the girl she'd once been.

 

What sort of life was she living in this immortal case? Sleeping a magical slumber with a dagger in her chest would be more of an existence than what she was experiencing while always closing herself off.

 

"I should get you back to the queen," Aramis said suddenly, his soft voice breaking the smooth silence of the garden. "It's late."

 

Sitting up straighter, Rebekah raised her eyebrows and pulled her hands up her thighs through the tulle of her skirt. Her lips parted as she feigned a breath to recover from the thoughts which were coursing through her brain.

 

He was standing beside her before she registered it, and his hand extended into her view as he offered to help her up. Accepting the help since her corset was restrictive even if she was a vampire who didn't need to breathe like normal people, she stood smoothly and smiled slightly before glancing away from him.

 

A golden glint caught her eye and she turned back to see him holding up her mask between them, a small smirk on his lips. "Best not return without this. Everyone will be whispering where you've been," he teased her gently, a coy glint in his brown eyes. His moustache seemed to curl with the curve of his lips, exaggerating his amused expression.

 

Involuntarily, Rebekah broke into a grin and snatched the mask from him playfully, pulling it back over her ears and tying it beneath her blond hair as the two of them walked side by side toward the palace. "Wouldn't want anyone spreading rumors that I was out with the likes of you," she noted flippantly, smiling to herself as she feigned nonchalance and glanced away from him.

 

He caught on to her tone and grinned, reaching up to fix his hat back into his wavy brown hair. "Certainly not. Musketeers don't have the best reputation, you know, especially me," he pointed out, smoothing out his moustache with the tips of his fingers and running his hand over his face.

 

Rebekah raised an eyebrow as they reentered the palace and he escorted her toward the queen's wing of the expansive home. They didn't touch, but his presence beside her warmed her in a way she hadn't felt for quite some time. Shrugging it off, she laced her hands together in front of her and held her head high as she glided toward the queen's private chambers.

 

"Are you saying that you are a wolfish rapscallion after all, _monsieur_?" she asked him lightly, quoting him from earlier in the evening.

 

Aramis smiled broadly as they came to a stop outside of the queen's chambers. In the golden light within the palace, his tanned skin held a vibrancy to it that emanated with his vitality. Rebekah wanted to partake in that vibrancy, wanted to sink her fangs into his neck and drink of him as if she could somehow consume his ebullience that way. But that would be fleeting and short, ultimately unsatisfactory. No, she wouldn't snuff out his life the way she had with men over the past few centuries. She didn't want to toy with him and then suck the life out of him that way. She lusted for something more, some way to experience his humanity.

 

"Perhaps I am, Lady Rebekah," he answered her, a twinkle in his eye as he gestured toward the door that would lead her to the queen.

 

She paused for a moment, her hand extended to rest on the gilded handle of the door, and her chin lifted slightly as she looked into his dark eyes. His pupils dilated so the dark brown was almost consumed by the black as he watched her, and his lips parted slightly so she could hear the warm pants of his breath through them.  He watched her intently, and she knew her beauty had an effect on him just as his humanity had grown to have an effect on her.

 

Tilting her chin up, her eyelids drooping slightly over her blue eyes, she glanced at his mouth again and heard his heartbeat skip as he noticed. She was intentionally positioned so he could easily lean in and kiss her if he wished. And why wouldn't he wish? As a vampire, she had an enchanting quality to her that drew humans in like flies to honey. She was the perfect predator: a beautiful young girl with an innocent face.  But she was also testing him. She was testing to see if he would be like every other man she'd ever met. They were undone by her natural good looks, her golden hair, and her sparkling blue eyes. She'd lost respect in the lot of them as a result.

 

Suddenly, Aramis straightened and swallowed as he took a half-step back. He offered her a polite smile and reached down to grab her hand, bringing it up to his lips. Planting a soft kiss on her knuckles, so soft she almost didn't feel it through her glove, he stood and then reached up to tip his hat. " _Bon nuit_ , Rebekah," he told her before turning and marching off down the hallway, his booted steps echoing down the corridor until he disappeared around the corner.

 

Even after he was gone, she stood alone in stunned silence for a moment, her jaw hanging open slightly. Narrowing her eyes, she stared at the empty space where he'd disappeared and wondered about him. He'd had every opportunity to kiss her, to fall into a masculine trope she'd established in her mind thanks to centuries of experience. And he hadn't. This musketeer - the word echoed disdainfully in her mind as if she'd spit it out loud - hadn't taken the bait.  Lifting her chin, she smiled, her eyelids lowering in a coy smile before she pushed the door open and retreated to the honeycomb of the queen's chambers for the night.


	13. Chapter 13

Anne stood for a moment, alone in her expansive private washing chamber. It was dark save for the flickering lamps around the room, and she held her silk robe around her shoulders as she stared blankly at nothing. She felt drained, but she couldn't pinpoint why. Or perhaps she didn't want to think about it long enough to figure it out. Perhaps she already knew.

Her honey blond hair fell in natural curls down her back now that it was no longer bound up in pins, and the silken robe had fallen from her shoulders so she held it draped around her shoulder blades as she stared blankly at the marble floor. Lowering herself to the floor, she shivered slightly as the cold stone chilled her legs, and she turned her gaze toward the bath filled with milk. It was set into the floor similar to a Roman bath - how she loved those - so she easily dipped her foot over the edge and slowly trailed her toes through the white liquid. It wasn't cold, thankfully; she trusted the milk bath would soothe her and help her to clear her mind.

Rising back to her feet, she dropped the robe at her ankles and then carefully stepped into the bath, lowering herself slowly in. The milk stole her breath away for a moment and she clenched her teeth together until she was fully immersed. Breathing a sigh of relief, she reclined her head against the edge of the bath. Her shoulders were just above the milk so most of her was hidden, leaving her neck exposed. 

Dragging her fingers through the watery milk, she watched the moody light in the room flickering across her eyelids. Tilting her chin up, she exposed more of her throat, her lips parting as she drew in a deep breath through her mouth. Her mind was racing, but she couldn't focus on one specific thought. Part of her knew it was because she didn't want to focus. If she focused, then she would realize what she was feeling wasn't entirely appropriate.

She couldn't deny the electric pull she'd felt as she'd danced with Niklaus Mikaelson. He was a pain, seemingly enamored with testing her, but there was chemistry there when they'd danced together. She couldn't explain it, so she was repressing it instead. Finding a man attractive was no reason to lose her mind over him. There were plenty of attractive noblemen in Paris. Realistically, as the queen, she had her pick of them if she wished, but she'd never bothered. They were all the same, and they didn't amuse her.

The simple fact that Klaus caught her attention at all was significant. Most of them blurred together until even their faces were indistinguishable in her mind. She remembered their family names out of necessity, but she didn't particularly care to remember anything else. Politeness didn't require getting close to anyone.

Instantly, she reminded herself that she didn't intend to get close to Klaus. She almost laughed at the thought. He was rude and testy, impetuous and easily-angered. She ignored the fact that the baser parts of her were exactly the same - those parts he so easily riled up with his presence - and resolved herself against him. They were allies, but that alliance was tenuous at best. As soon as Margot was out of the country on one of the Mikaelson ships, she would sever ties with him.

Relaxing the muscles in her lower back, she floated upward in the bath until the curves of her knees breached the water, and she sighed audibly again. A faint scratching sound distantly plagued at her mind, and she frowned to herself but ignored it. Her ladies knew she was to be left alone, so they wouldn't interrupt her. 

The scratching slowly changed to a tapping sound she couldn't identify, and she perked up her ears to listen. It began like someone scratching a quill against a piece of parchment, but it changed to an almost metallic scraping sound that she couldn't ignore. 

Opening her eyes, she frowned across the room but found she was still alone. Her silken robe lay in a pile nearby, but other than the rippling of the bath around her knees and chest, there was no other sound in the room. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she leaned her head back against the side of the bath again and calmed her heart. She was hearing things now. Great.

The room remained quiet for a while longer, and she relaxed more, sinking down to her chin in the milk as she forced herself to enjoy the bath. She'd had too much stress for such a short time. She needed to relax so she could be at her best. Being distracted by thoughts of good-looking but snappish noblemen wasn’t the best for her or for France.

Click click, scratch.

Her eyes flew open as she heard it again, and she sat up in the bath, her heart leaping into her throat. At the opposite end of the room, a pair of golden eyes (whether they were gold or the light of the room was making them look that way, she wasn't sure) watched her through the translucent fabric draping from the ceiling to the floor around the bath. Her breath caught in her throat as fear and surprise clutched at her chest, releasing a small squeak through her lips.

The eyes moved, and the shape came in to view: a black wolf with eyes that glowed unlike any animal she'd seen. It was much larger than she imagined it should be, and it watched her with an intelligent gaze that set her off and filled her with more fear. Her heart was beating quickly now; she imagined everyone in the nearby rooms could hear it. 

But she was alone. She'd specifically requested she be entirely alone. Now she regretted that decision.

Sitting up slowly in the bath, her hands shaking, she ran her fingers along the marble ledge until her fingertips grasped her silk robe. She never took her eyes from the wolf as it slowly moved, circling her and watching her. Turning so she continued facing it, she fumbled for her robe and pushed herself up out of the milk so she could pull the robe around her shoulders. Even if a flimsy silk robe wouldn't protect her from a wolf attack, at least she felt more comfortable with something covering her nakedness.

A low grating sound rumbled across the marble floor, and she realized the wolf was growling at her. The hair on its back was standing up now, and her knees felt weak as she balanced in the bath and tried to think clearly. This was only an animal. Yes, it was a large and potentially deadly animal, but an animal nonetheless. She held on to the thought in an attempt to calm herself, but it didn't work well. She was terrified. How was one supposed to prepare for this sort of thing? There wasn't a page about dealing with wild animals in the bathing room in any of her etiquette books.

Swallowing heavily, she eased toward the edge of the bath, keeping the wolf in front of her as it started growling more vehemently when it noticed her movements. It was as if the creature could sense she was trying to slowly escape, and it was growing angry. She debated speaking soothingly to the wolf, but her voice was caught in her throat, rendering her mute. Her hands shook violently as she wrung the robe between her fingers where she clutched the fabric over her bare chest.

"It's--" her voice broke, sounding too loud and nasally in her fear. Swallowing again, drawing her chin up as she did so, she struggled to take a breath before trying to speak again. "It's alright..." she managed, slowly holding a hand out toward the wolf to ward it off. 

"I won't hurt you."

The wolf growled stronger, gnashing its teeth angrily at her as if mocking her. Of course she wouldn't hurt it. She wasn't the predator here.

Her brain didn't have the time to register why a wild animal was in her bath in the first place. She could barely breathe, let alone wonder how wildlife had infiltrated the innermost areas of the palace.

Inching away from the wolf toward the corner of the bath where she thought she had a better chance to get a footing if the creature lunged, she felt along the marble until she reached the stairs at the far end of the marble pool. The wolf's golden eyes flickered, and it looked down at her hand. She swore intelligent realization dawned in the beast's eyes, and she knew this was no ordinary wolf. Confusion and fear stifled her, but she continued her slow attempt to escape by edging up the first step at the end of the bath.

The wolf noticed and growled vehemently, taking the opportunity to lunge before she could escape. 

With an involuntary scream, she turned to scramble out of the bath, but her feet slipped on the marble, taking her hard down onto her hands and knees. Panic flooded through her as she heard the scraping of the wolf's claws on the marble floor as it came for her. Glancing back over her shoulder as she pushed herself up on the floor, she thanked the heavens above that the creature was having almost as much trouble getting traction on the polished marble as she was. But the wolf was stronger than her and was already recovering quicker.

"Someone help!" she screamed, getting tangled in her floor-length silk robe as it became weighed down with milk and wrapped around her knees when she tried climbing up the stairs and out of the bath. In her fear, all she could hear was the wild beating of her heart in her ears. She had no idea if anyone could hear her screams from here.

Panting wildly, hot tears springing to her eyes in reaction to her terror, she forgot feminine convention and used both hands to drag herself up onto the slick stone as she heard the wolf catching its footing a few meters away. The length of the massive bathing room worked to her advantage, but the puddle of milk around her feet did not. As she tried to stand so she could run, she slipped in the milk again and cursed audibly as she fell back to her knees.

"Someone!" she screamed again. Struggling and becoming breathless with fright, she looked frantically behind her to see the wolf had disappeared from view.

Falling on to her behind, she looked around her in a frenzy. Where was it? It had to be here. Was she hallucinating?

She heard the breath a second before the jaws snapped only a foot away from her face, and she was deafened by the scream she later realized to be her own. Falling onto her back on the hard marble floor, wooden with fear, she was certain she would be torn apart at any moment. This was it. This was the end of Queen Anne of France.

Her eyes clenched closed and her fingers grasped so tightly to the robe around her that the fabric tore from the intensity. She was paralyzed, and her breaths came rapidly as she clung to the inevitable end to her short life.

But it didn’t come.

Opening her eyes warily, one at the time, all she could register was a golden blur intermingled with the black fur of the wolf. A whooshing sound passed her and she heard a yelp, but her mind was too jumbled to make sense of what was happening. At the end of the bathing room, one of the lamps exploded and a human growl followed it. The wolf snarled and there was a scramble, but the extinguishing of the lamp cast the other end of the room into near-complete darkness and she couldn't focus well enough to tell what was going on.

A second swooshing sound moved behind her, creating a breeze which rippled her robe around her shoulders and a displacement of air that made her ears pop. Strong hands slipped beneath her and she was suddenly flying through the air, her thin robe the only protection she had against the cool night air. Shaking in shock now, she sank helplessly into her savior's chest and clung desperately to the silk in her hands as some sort of comfort.

Distantly, she realized she was no longer in the bathing room but in her own bedroom being lowered into her massive canopy bed. Her eyes were wide and her joints felt frozen. Her teeth chattered in her head, but not because she was cold. Still shaking, she drew her knees up in front of her as the candles in the room suddenly lit and filled the room with a familiar, comforting glow.

The shape of masculine shoulders materialized as the candlelight filled the bedroom, and she watched as the man turned and then appeared at the side of her bed as if he hadn’t just been all the way across the room. There was the displacement of air again, blowing the dry tendrils of her naturally curly hair back from the sides of her face. Looking up into his face, she reluctantly recognized him.

Her lips parted, but she couldn't speak. All that came out was the chattering of her teeth, and she suddenly felt very frail and weak. Clutching her robe around her, realizing her severe state of undress, she pulled her knees up beneath her, tried to sit up straighter, and glared at Klaus as he stepped to her side and bent down to look into her face.

"Relax... it's taken care of," he told her. His voice wasn't soothing as she somehow expected it to be. Weren’t saviors supposed to speak softly and comfortingly to damsels in distress? Instead he spoke to her in a business-like tone that managed to relax her more than his sympathy could have. No, she didn't need coddling or sympathy. His clipped tone was strangely exactly what she needed. She didn't want to feel weak, especially not as exposed as she was.

She imagined what she must have looked like as he scooped her up into his arms: like a drowned rat desperately trying to escape its fate and failing miserably. Embarrassment filled every inch of her, and she closed her eyes as she began rocking slightly on the bed. Of all of the people in the world she didn't want to see her this way, Niklaus Mikaelson was the last of them.

He didn't touch her, but he looked into her eyes as she glared at him, trying to summon her familiar anger at him to replace the terror in her chest. But it wouldn't come. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn't cry in front of him. Her heart fluttered in her chest, beating wildly like the wings of a hummingbird as she struggled with the myriad of feelings - fear, excitement, panic, embarrassment - rushing through her.

"I said relax. Your heart is beating out of control," he informed her, and she was still too scared to register how he could possibly know how fast her heart was beating.

He sat down beside her now and reached out, pulling her against him again and in to his lap. Her embarrassment that he was holding her like a child was overwhelmed by the strange warmth of him. Bracing her arm, her elbow feeling like stone as her muscles spasmed, she held herself away from his chest in a last ditch defiance. What strength she had was leaving her, and her joints slowly warmed so her feet fell to the floor and her legs were draped over his lap. She still shook violently, but he held her as if it didn't affect him.

It wasn't an affectionate embrace, and for that, she was grateful. There was no ulterior motive in his touch at all, nothing that made her feel threatened. She could be sitting in a chair for how little he made contact with her skin, as if he was intentionally refusing to brush his skin against hers. He was merely something living for her to touch.

Something within her told her this wasn't natural for him, or at least it wasn't intentional. He didn't seem like the type to comfort someone, so she didn't read in to it. She just focused on making herself calm down as he'd instructed her, ignoring her stubbornness that told her not to listen to a man whom she outranked. He was right whether she liked it or not. 

Her arm between them gradually relaxed and she slumped slowly back in to his arm around her shoulders. "The wolf..." she managed, her teeth still chattering and making it hard to speak. Her heartbeat picked up at the thought of those vicious fangs and golden eyes. That wolf was hunting her. She had no doubt about it now.

"It's taken care of," he spoke succinctly before shifting to lift her from his lap, placing her back onto the bed. He stood and brushed his hands down his clothes which were now damp from where she’d been sitting on him.

Before she could speak again, he glanced quickly to the door a moment before it opened and Rebekah stumbled in. He moved to her immediately, ignoring her when she waved him off. She held one hand to her neck, and her fingers were red with blood. Anne's eyes widened in horror as Klaus led his sister to a chair.

"Rebekah!" she spoke, her voice cracking from the screaming she'd done. The girl shook her head and offered her a weak smile as she sank into the chair with her brother hovering over her.

Forcing herself to her feet, Anne walked on shaking legs to her friend's side, pushing aside her own weakness to see to her friend. She was having a breakdown over being terrorized by a wolf while Rebekah was obviously physically hurt. Catching herself on the armrest of the chair, she frowned in consternation as she examined her friend. Klaus glared at her now, either because he thought she should be resting or because she was in his way, she wasn't quite sure. But Rebekah silenced him before he could reprimand the queen.

"The bastard bit me and then jumped off the balcony," Rebekah informed them, wincing and tightening her hold on her neck. Looking down at her clothes, Anne recognized Rebekah’s golden nightgown and realized, confusedly, that her friend must have been the blur she’d seen attack the wolf. But that made no sense. How could she move so fast?

Klaus's eyebrows drew together and he tore his sleeve away from his wrist, lifting his hand to his mouth and biting into his own skin. Anne's mouth fell open in surprise as the squelching sound of his teeth tearing his own skin reached her ears, and she covered her mouth as he pressed his wrist to his sister's mouth.

Rebekah grunted and shook her head, pushing him away which only seemed to infuriate him. "Drink, Rebekah."

She tried resisting again, but she was too weak to fight him, and soon the sound of her drinking his blood softly filled the room. He ground his teeth together so hard Anne could hear it from where she stood beside the chair. Glancing away from his sister, he seemed to realize for the second time that Anne was still there. Her eyes widened as he looked up at her, his eyes harder than they had been only minutes before when he'd saved her from a murderous wolf.

Klaus surged up from where he'd been kneeling beside his sister as Rebekah finished drinking and crossed the space between them, grabbing Anne by her shoulders. His strength astounded her, and she dropped her hands to her sides as her arms went numb thanks to the pressure of his hands on her. She was confused and now perturbed by the way he was grabbing her, and the conflicting emotions flickered across her face as she stared him down. No one ever physically touched her without threat of imprisonment or beheading, and she was angry that he’d done so without her permission.

"What's going on? What's wrong with her? What was that thing?" the question poured out of her before she could stop them. She was so disoriented. She would think it was all a nightmare if she didn't know better. The numbness in her limbs, her leaden heart after the stress of the wolf's attack: it was all too real to deny. But she wasn't the type to balk from it. She preferred answers.

Klaus's eyelids dropped slightly and his grip on her shoulders slacked slightly, a perturbed expression passing over his face before he clenched his jaw and the muscle in his cheek tightened. Lowering his chin, he looked directly into her eyes and she randomly noticed how richly blue his eyes were even in such dim lighting. What a strange thought in light of everything that had happened within the last hour...

"Now is not the time for you to know," he informed her, and his eyes seemed to draw her in in a way she couldn't describe. Her lips parted and her chin lifted slightly as she became entranced by his gaze. His words seemed to fill her mind until she forgot about all of her fear and trepidation. 

"Don't lie to me..." she managed, not noticing the momentary stunned look on his handsome face as she responded to him through the compulsion. His face really was so handsome...

He sighed audibly, the sigh echoing to the back of her mind as she slackened within his grasp, no longer fighting against his hold. "I won't lie to you. You just don't need to know now."

His gaze filled her mind, bewildering her and bending her strong will so every fiber of her being wanted to obey him. It was such a funny feeling. "I don't need to know now," she repeated, the compulsion taking hold. 

"Now, sleep," he commanded her gently, or at least it sounded gentle to her. She hummed in agreement and nodded slowly, her eyelids suddenly feeling very heavy. 

"I'm so... tired..." she commented, unable to keep her eyes open as if she'd been drugged. Slowly, the room went black and she didn't remember anything else as she slumped back into her bed and fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

"What happened?!" Elijah asked worriedly, rushing to the door as Klaus burst into the chamber carrying their sister in his arms. Her head lolled back over Klaus's arm and her blond hair was loose and wild. She groaned as Klaus shifted her and lowered her into a chair close to the fireplace. Sweat covered her forehead and she swallowed roughly, coughing as lightly as she could. Her head throbbed painfully with every movement, and she felt cold all over even though she was sweating profusely.

"She was bitten by a werewolf," Klaus answered firmly, his face drawn as he situated her so she would be comfortable. "I fed her my blood, but it hasn't helped much, if at all."

Rebekah groaned, pressing her face into the curved side of the chair. The fabric of the chair absorbed the sweat on her skin but it beaded back up across her forehead before it could dry. Elijah went to her and sunk down on one knee beside her, rolling his sleeve up to his elbow as he did so. Biting into his wrist, he sat up and pressed his bleeding wrist to her lips.

"I already told you I tried that, and it didn't work," Klaus growled as Rebekah began to drink Elijah's blood.

"Perhaps it wasn't enough. It can't hurt for her to have more," Elijah stated, his tone corrective and aloof. Klaus narrowed his eyes but held his tongue, moving to a nearby chair so he could grip the back of it. The chair whined from the pressure of his strong hands as he watched his sister worriedly while Elijah pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the excess blood from her lips.

Standing, Elijah began unrolling his sleeve as his wrist healed. Watching Rebekah for a moment, he frowned in consternation. Vampires were susceptible to a werewolf's bite, but they were not like other vampires. She would be sick for a few hours to a day, but she would recover. He wasn't worried about her recovery, but rather about why a werewolf was in the castle in the first place.

Turning to look at his younger brother, Elijah's mouth formed a flat line as he frowned in Klaus's direction. "Where did the beast come from?"

He noticed Klaus stiffen at the term - his brother was half-werewolf by birth although that side of him had long been repressed by their mother's magic - but he shrugged his shoulders, his eyes widening in that way they did when he felt helpless. "I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. There seemed to be more on the tip of his tongue in way of an explanation, but he didn't have a chance to continue.

"I do," Kol interrupted, arriving in a flourish from his chambers. His brown cloak was haphazardly on his shoulders as he tugged it off of his arms and tossed it toward the coat rack, not carrying if it actually landed. Elijah narrowed his eyes at the behavior but waited patiently for his youngest brother to explain himself before he went into a tirade about the proper way to arrange one's coat.

Running his fingers up through his brown hair, ruffling it, his shining eyes glanced between his two brothers before he looked at his sister. "The werewolf is one of the musketeers," Kol announced, not bothering to dance around the topic.

Klaus turned a questioning look on him that Kol returned with his eyes widening sarcastically. "Did you miss the torn musketeers' clothing outside of the queen's wing when you were being the knight in shining armor for Her Majesty?" Kol asked tauntingly.

Anger flashed into Klaus's eyes, and his lower jaw jutted out as he stepped threateningly toward his brother. He didn't get the chance to respond before Kol piped up again, confrontational as always. "What exactly were you doing in the queen's bathing chamber, Nik?" he asked with a brilliant smile that only piqued Klaus's ire further.

Elijah was momentarily reminded of Rebekah's and Kol's comments earlier in the evening at the ball. He'd never imagined Klaus would be undone by a human woman, but his younger siblings were right: Niklaus loved a challenge. And there was no one more unattainable than the queen of France herself.

"I wasn't in the queen's bathing chamber, you foul weasel," Klaus hissed, invading Kol's personal space. Kol merely smiled, his dark eyes lowering into slits as he grinned at his older brother.

"It's easy enough to miss the obvious details when you're busy pacing beneath her window begging for handouts of her virginal beauty," Kol taunted, and Klaus's jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together. "I bet she's magnificent, supple and pure."

Klaus grabbed his shoulders and drove him back into the wall, growling threateningly now as he pinned Kol against the mantle around the fireplace. Elijah moved in the blink of an eye and put his arm between them, grabbing Klaus's neck and surprising him which allowed Kol to extricate himself. Kol stepped away to the side and straightened his clothes as Elijah pushed Klaus back and released him, standing between the two of them.

Holding his hands out to keep both of them at bay, he glowered disapprovingly at the two of them. "I don't care about anyone's intentions. All I care about is this werewolf whom you claim is a Musketeer," Elijah pointed out matter-of-factly as he turned his gaze on Kol. "Why would a Musketeer try to harm the queen?"

Kol shrugged, eyeing Klaus for a moment before stepping over so he could warm his hands by the fire as he leaned weightlessly against the back of Rebekah's chair. "I have no idea, but it was a musketeer. His clothes were torn and in the bushes where he fled after Bekah ran him off." Absently, he reached down and his fingertips brushed the top of his sister's golden crown of hair before he ran them along the back of her chair as if he was subconsciously reassuring himself that she was still there. Her breathing was ragged now, and she sounded as if she'd fallen asleep while they were arguing.

"Why would his clothes be in his getaway instead of where he turned?" Elijah asked suspiciously. That made no sense. That sounded like a planned attack and not an uncontrolled turn with the full moon. A werewolf on the king's personal guard was dangerous enough. A werewolf with a vendetta was a threat to the kingdom as a whole.

Kol shrugged again and turned so he was leaning back on his elbows on the back of Rebekah's chair. "I was just enjoying myself with one of the queen's ladies in the gardens when we happened on the clothes," he commented, smirking mischievously. He obviously wanted them to take note that he was carousing, but both of them ignored him so he continued. "Not long after, the wolf fell from the balcony above, grabbed the clothes in its mouth and limped off into the darkness before I could investigate. I compelled the girl to forget it and came straight here."

"A werewolf cognizant enough to gather its clothing while still in wolf form?" Elijah asked incredulously. He'd seen plenty of werewolves in his lifetime, and none of them had been aware enough to consider their attire. The Turn was an uncontrollable thing, so full of a passion and a wildness that the proper Mikaelson brother didn't experience. It was gauche to him, so primitive and beastly. He may be a vampire, but he certainly wasn't a thoughtless monster. Absently, he straightened the cuff of his sleeves as he glanced from one of his brothers to the other.

Klaus shook his head and frowned in consternation. They considered him the werewolf expert among them since werewolf blood ran in his veins. "There hasn't been a wolf who could control a Turn, that I know of. There must be more to it."

In the moment of silence among them, Rebekah stirred in her chair, distracting them all as they hurried to her side. Her blue eyes flickered open and her lips parted as she drew in a deep breath. With her vision blurry, she was forced to blink several times before she could focus on any of them. Her color was a bit better, but sweat still covered her forehead and face and she was obviously still weak from the bite.

Finding Kol among them, she tilted her chin up to give her voice room to leave her throat. "Kol..." she managed, and he leaned over, balancing with one arm bracing him on the armrest of her chair. Her eyes were bright and feverish, but she was lucid as her brothers watched her.

"Do a favor for your baby sister?" she asked him weakly, and a dark glint sparked in his eyes in response.

"What is it, Bekah?" he asked her as Klaus and Elijah exchanged a knowing look.

Rebekah sat forward in the chair, leaning in to Kol's face as he watched her. "Join the musketeers, find the bastard... and I want you to kill him." Her blue eyes were like ice as she slumped exhaustedly back into her seat and Kol rose to his full height, his smirk now transformed into a wicked grin.

Glancing between his older brothers, Kol straightened the lapels of his dress jacket and winked at them. "As you wish, sister."


	15. Chapter 15

Elijah sat in the morning sunlight streaming in through the window, running his fingers gingerly down the parchment in front of him as his youngest brother finished his breakfast on one of the couches nearby. Rebekah had recovered her strength during the night and she was asleep in her bedroom, leaving Elijah and Kol alone in the great room which connected the siblings' chambers.

"Kol..." Elijah spoke in a sing-song voice without looking up from the scroll he was reading. "Please dispose of your mess once you're done making it." His eyebrows raised as he lifted his gaze and looked at his youngest brother through the tops of his eyes. "And don't stain the carpets," he added with a threatening glint to his eyes and a small grin.

A satisfied sigh left Kol's lips as he retracted his fangs from the neck of the maiden he'd brought in for breakfast. He'd thoroughly drained her, and his entire jaw was coated in her blood. His shirt was ruined, and Elijah sniffed distastefully to himself as he went back to perusing the scroll on the table in front of him.

"I know how to clean up my messes, brother," Kol reminded him, standing and allowing the girl's lifeless body to slump into a pile of satin and lace on the floor. Holding his hands out to his sides, he turned back and forth slightly to show himself off. "How do I look?"

Elijah didn't bother looking up. "Like the plebe you are."

Kol pulled on his initiate's cloak over his bloodied shirt, the sky blue of the Musketeers starkly contrasting with his dark hair and dark eyes. He smiled at Elijah's words and his teeth stood out, brilliantly white against the red covering his chin. "I think it suits me," he commented, tugging on the cloak and pursing his lips as he twirled like a little girl admiring a new dress.

"It won't suit anyone if you ruin it with the leftovers of your most recent breakfast," Elijah pointed out conversationally before glancing over at the lifeless girl on the floor. "Save me the trouble of compelling a maid to clean that up and clean up after yourself for once."

Kol rolled his eyes and feigned a pout, emulating their sister by planting his hands on his hips childishly. "You take the fun out of everything, 'Lijah."

"Like I've said a thousand times," Elijah replied in his nonplussed tone as he lifted his eyebrows and smiled slightly when he caught his younger brother's eye, "You and I have differing ideas on 'fun'."

With a snort, Kol untied the Musketeer cloak from around his shoulders and draped it over a chair before bending over to drag the dead girl off of the floor. Elijah ignored him as he worked, narrowing his eyes over the words etched into the parchment in front of him. It was a log of the family's mercantile business over the past six months, and he always perused them before stowing them for safekeeping. Klaus was the master of the Mikaelson family's trade, but Elijah was their master of coin. Nothing went unnoticed by the eldest Mikaelson brother.

The door across the room opened and Klaus emerged from his bedroom already fully dressed for the day. Lifting his chin, Elijah watched his brother as he sidestepped Kol and headed for the exit. "The sun has only just filled the sky with its light, and you're already prepared to depart?" Elijah commented, feigning nonchalance as he rolled the scroll up tightly and bound it with the red ribbon sealed with an artistic M for Mikaelson.

Klaus looked over at him as he pulled his traveling cloak on around his shoulders and tied it. "I have business for the queen," he stated curtly. That was the tone he used when he was perturbed and felt he didn't have to explain himself. Klaus hated explaining himself, and Elijah knew it. But the eldest brother was still unsure how far he could trust his brother to support their position here. Thusfar, Klaus was following the rules, but how long until he lost control again? How long until another victim, nearly bled dry, stumbled into their chambers with a blood-drunken message from his younger brother?

He couldn't chance that that next victim may be the queen.

He didn't believe Klaus had anything to do with the attack on the woman. He didn't think his brother wanted to do her physical harm. But he couldn't get Rebekah's words entirely out of his mind. It was too easy for him to believe the worst since Klaus rarely proved him wrong.

"I'll come with you," Elijah announced, rising smoothly from his seat and crossing the room to face his brother.

Klaus frowned and narrowed his eyes. "I won't be long."

"Then you won't mind my tagging along," Elijah commended, offering him a smile that communicated he was unwilling to be refused.

Klaus's jaw twitched as he clamped his teeth together before bracing his hand against Elijah's chest, bodily stopping him to keep him at bay. "I'm dealing with sensitive matters for the queen, arranging to ship out her very special package," he explained, his eyes dancing irritably since he was having to explain himself again. He hated justifying his actions. "Unless you intend to trail me all day long to insure I'm behaving myself, then I'll be going."

His voice was sharp and succinct, and he left Elijah behind as he turned and swiftly departed the room. Blinking, Elijah pursed his lips and stood alone for a moment in his brother's wake. He knew Klaus wasn't one to lie, so he believed he was taking care of the queen's former lady-in-waiting as he said he was. Even better: that left the queen available for an audience with Elijah. Surely she wouldn't be too busy to give him a few moments of her time.

\--------------------------------------------------

Anne's face was composed and her hands were gathered together in front of her as she stood in the sunlight and tilted her head back so the climbing sunlight could warm the underneath of her chin. She looked perfectly calm, standing still and enjoying the sunlight as she was. Only the keenest observer would notice how she gently wrung her fingers across each other, rubbing her index finger and thumb together in a circle on one hand while she gently outlined the backs of her knuckles with the fingers of her other hand. Her nervousness and agitation was bottled up and leaking its way out through her fingertips, seeping from her and leaving her feeling exhausted although she'd gotten some of the best sleep of her life the night before. She hadn't even dreamed. It was almost magical.

But now that she was awake, all she could see were the yellow, glowing eyes of the wolf in her bathing room last night. The vision wracked at her mind, turning her insides into a coiling knot of anxiety. She was too smart to imagine there wasn't something else to what had happened in that room, but she was certain she would get answers. Something nagged at her and reminded her that she would find out soon.

" _Bon matin_ , My Lady," came a soothing English accent that she recognized quickly as Elijah Mikaelson. Lowering her chin, she blinked in the bright, morning sunlight and focused on him where he stood several feet away with a pleasant smile on his face and his gloved hands resting gently at his sides. Bowing at his waist, his posture was impeccable - nearly impossible - as he stood to his full height.

Behind him, her ladies - excluding Elijah's sister, Rebekah - plucked flowers from the plants throughout the garden and entertained themselves in various ways. A few of them smiled sweetly at the musketeers who the king always sent to watch over the queen, but most of them ignored Anne and her newly-arrived guest.

Smiling gently at him, Anne clasped her hands tightly together in front of her, mentally forcing her fingers to still in their repetition. She didn't want to give off the air of anxiety, so she called up her trained poise as she nodded slightly in greeting to the Englishman.

" _Bon matin_ , Lord Mikaelson. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Elijah smiled and glanced briefly down at the ground before looking back up at her. She'd heard a few of her ladies giggling about him in passing, speaking as girls do about attractive older men. She supposed he was attractive with his defined, clean-shaven jawline and entreating brown eyes. There didn't seem to be a thread out of place with him, from his perfectly quoffed hair down to the laces on his polished shoes. He was every bit the gentleman, but she supposed he was too perfect for her tastes. She could agree that he was appealing to the eye, but there was something about him...

She stopped herself as she realized she had begun comparing him to his younger brother. Mentally chiding herself for her errant thoughts, the irritated look almost crossed her face before she stopped it. Dismissing comparisons of attractiveness, she lifted her chin slightly and met Elijah's eyes as she awaited his answer.

"It is within my responsibilities to inform you that my sister is in bed recovering from... illness," he commented, pausing only a moment before explaining himself. A mixture of terror and an urge to contain the truth about the previous night's events flickered across the queen's eyes, and Elijah smiled calmly. "She will be fine, milady. I--"

He stopped himself and glanced to his side to judge the proximity of her ladies-in-waiting before he looked back at her and took a step closer so they wouldn't be overheard. "Last night..."

"Your brother Niklaus has assured me an explanation is in order," Anne commented suddenly, so certain of herself that it silenced Elijah for a moment. Drawing himself up, his lips set into a straight line, he paused and then nodded once. Realizing how curt she'd been, Anne's lips parted and she drew in a breath before offering Elijah a kind smile.

"Yes, well, Rebekah is sleeping and recovering. She should return to you within the day," he informed her, turning slightly and motioning forward, gesturing to ask if she would like to walk. She complied by turning and walking gracefully along beside him.

"That is good news. Thank you for letting me know," she replied sincerely, lacing her fingers together in front of her as she walked.

They walked for a moment in silence until they reached a turn in the path and Elijah glanced over at her out of the side of his eyes. "I had another matter I wished to broach to you as well, Your Majesty. If it isn't too much trouble?"

She'd suspected as much, but her suspicions didn't show as she smiled slightly and lifted her eyebrows to look at him. "You're not a bother, _monsieur_ ," she commented simply, her dress rustling at her feet as she walked, the repetitious familiarity of the sound soothing her ears.

"It's about my brother Niklaus," Elijah admitted, and he could swear he felt her tense at his side. But the notion was gone as soon as it came, and he dismissed it before continuing.

Casting his gaze toward her ladies, he rested one hand behind his back and gestured with his free hand toward the young women. "My brother is restless and a bit... free-spirited," he admitted, turning to look at her now. He smiled conspiratorially, and she watched him intently as he continued, her face a carefully composed, emotionless mask.

"I have been thinking perhaps it is time for him to have something more substantial in his life," he conjectured. Anne glanced away from him and out to the garden in front of her. An amused light had risen in her eyes, and the ghost of a smile teased at the corner of her mouth but she hid it well as she looked back at him.

"What is it you are suggesting, milord?" she asked, never one to put words in another's mouth. She wanted to hear it straight from him.

Pausing in his steps, he turned to face the queen and she smoothly halted beside him, watching his face as he explained himself.

"I was hoping to arrange a marriage between Niklaus and one of your ladies," he offered, shifting his weight to look back over at the girls who were ignoring them or distracted by other things. "A wife is a good way to settle a nobleman." He said his last statement pensively, almost as if he was bartering livestock and not a marriage between a man and a woman.

With her eyebrows raised and a slight smile on her face, Anne watched her ladies for a moment. "Marriage certainly does serve to focus a man's passions," she commented, a hint of sardonicism deep within her tone that Elijah caught. Unaware of her plight with her own husband, he looked over at her, innocent to the true depth of meaning beneath her words. She was silent for a long moment, her eyes dancing cunningly as she watched her ladies-in-waiting, deep in thought.

Finally, Anne lifted her chin slightly and looked over at him, offering him her most diplomatic smile. "You make a valid offer, monsieur, but I have a counter proposal which I believe to be much more suitable for us all."

Elijah shifted his weight and turned to watch her, an inquisitive look furrowing his brow. The queen continued, uninterrupted, "While I understand your intentions, I must think first of my ladies. I have promised them protection and good husbands," Anne noted, watching him with her blithe smile. "I don't think Klaus is a suitable match for any of them, but you, on the other hand..."

Surprised, his jaw fell open and he blinked as he realized what the queen was suggesting. "Your Majesty... me? Why, no, I--"

"Of course you," Anne clarified smoothly, smiling (was she amused?) as she glanced from his face toward her ladies. "You are the eldest brother, after all. You're handsome and eligible and noble. You would make a fine match."

Dumbfounded by this turn, this wrench in his plan, he fought through his initial shock to find a way back. This wasn't his intention. It was Klaus who was supposed to be paired with one of these girls, married off to settle him for a few decades until the girl inevitably died. Perhaps marriage would be the thing which finally calmed his hot-headed brother down.

But his theory didn't have the opportunity to come to fruition if it backfired in this way.

"While I'm honored by your glowing compliments, milady, I couldn't..." he began, offering her a genteel smile.

Anne scoffed delicately and fixed him with a look, "Don't be silly!" She sounded almost as if she was teasing him, but he couldn't quite be sure. She typically seemed rather serious and sweet, and he hadn't spent enough time around her to tell if she was jesting or not.

"As the eldest Mikaelson brother, you are the most desirable match for any young lady looking for a husband," she pointed out. Elijah shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, breathing out hard through his nose.

"I am too old to be married, my queen," Elijah countered, attempting to fend off her efforts. "Niklaus, on the other hand..."

"You can't be older than thirty. That's plenty young for a man to be married. With your family's fortune and status, age means nothing. Age means so little for a man anyway," she reminded him, straightening her back and clasping her hands over her waist.

Shaking his head, Elijah opened his mouth to politely argue, intending to reiterate why Klaus would make the best match. This wasn't about him at all, this was about keeping Niklaus in his place. He didn't expect his brother to fall in love with a human girl, but at least the pretense of human normalcy may keep him from acting out. It was a far-fetched notion, but one Elijah considered to be rather brilliant. However, the queen was causing it all to backfire by refusing him.

"Your Majesty, really, I do think my brother would be--"

Anne held her hand up to stop him, offering him a smile that barely veiled her resoluteness in the matter. He could see the decision had already been made by the way her light eyes hardened even as she smiled.

"My offer has been made, _Monsieur_ Elijah. Do consider," she pronounced, dipping her head at him to politely indicate he could excuse himself.

" _Oui_ , My Lady," he acquiesced, bowing at his waist before turning and hastily leaving the gardens. He wasn't one to panic, and he didn't now, but he wondered how his seemingly-brilliant plan had backfired in his face. How had Klaus gotten his way when he wasn't even here to defend himself? Shock laid over him like a wet blanket as Elijah made his path back toward his family's chambers in the palace. He'd approached the queen intent on controlling his brother through a union he knew Klaus would hate, but it would be for his own good. And now he was leaving: the only option being his own union instead. He almost laughed out loud at the irony.


	16. Chapter 16

The queen was standing alone as he entered the garden, easily skirting her ladies-in-waiting as they giggled to themselves. They were fools, and he spent most of his time ignoring them or pretending they didn't actually exist. His footsteps were sure and filled with purpose, his arms swinging relaxedly at his sides as he approached the queen. The musketeers watched him warily, and he smiled slightly to himself as they eyed him. If he wanted to harm her, he could do so with ease and not a one of them would be able to stop him. He'd snap their necks with the flick of his wrist.

As if a shadow materialized out of her corner of her eye, Anne realized he had arrived before she turned fully to look at him. Her fanned collar hid half of her face as she cut her eyes toward him before turning to reveal her flushed cheeks and light blue eyes. "Monsieur Niklaus," she greeted him as he halted a few feet from her and watched her with his intense gaze. Even the small smile on his lips didn't alleviate the taut feeling in the air as if it was stretched too thin around him.

"Your Majesty," he returned the greeting, bowing slightly at his waist as he didn't break their gaze. "Your shipment has departed the country, on its way to Spain."

Her chin lifted slightly and her shoulders relaxed visibly as she drew in a deep breath. It was as if a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders, and relief shone in her light eyes. "Thank you, Niklaus," she replied, the familiarity of his name intermingling with her sincerity as she offered him a small smile of her own. Their gazes were locked, and she felt for a moment that she couldn't look away. Perhaps she didn't wish to look away. He'd saved her life only the night before, and he continued to bewilder her.

Boldly, Klaus held her gaze, unafraid of her station and unconcerned with rules of etiquette. He once again found himself curiously intrigued by her humanity and her indomitable will. The woman had just been attacked in her own bedchambers last night, but she stood before him nonplussed. He could smell the faint twinge of anxiety in the air around her, and he could hear her heart beating rapidly, but none of it showed on her face.

Glancing hastily away from him, she cleared her throat and pursed her lips for a moment as she focused across the gardens. Gathering herself, her eyes cleared before she turned back to look at him, the momentary spell between them broken.

"I believe you have something else to tell me as well," she stated succinctly, her tone heavily laden with the thickness of subtlety. Her eyebrows raised slightly as she pursed her lips again, her mouth forming an almost-perfect heart as she watched him. Parting his lips, Klaus glanced away for a moment, shifting his weight and sighing audibly.

"Unless you are a liar and don't intend to tell me what that... creature in my bathing room was last night," she added, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

An angry light glinted in his eyes as he looked back at her. He didn't like being questioned, and he didn't appreciate being accused of lying. "I am no liar, Your Majesty," he stressed her title with a hint of repugnance that she caught immediately.

"Very well," she acquiesced, turning her body so she could more easily see him. She watched his face, watching for the tell-tale signs of lying she knew so well. "I know that was no ordinary wolf. What was that beast?"

He tensed visibly at the word, and Anne puzzled over his reaction but couldn't inquire further before the look was gone from his face. "I'm sure you've heard stories of the loup garou..." He trailed off, offering her the opportunity to respond.

Frowning slightly as she looked at him, Anne shook her head gently. "I have heard the foolish myths and legends superstitious parents tell their children to keep them from going into the woods alone at night, yes. But those are just stories." She gave him a mildly scornful look as he raised his eyebrows and smiled amusedly.

"Every story has a genesis," he noted simply.

Disdain rose in her eyes followed by disbelief. What a ridiculous notion: werewolves. They were fool's tales. She'd never believed them ever since she was a child.

"A man cannot turn into a wolf and vice versa. Are you trying to tell me that a werewolf attacked me in my bath last night?" she accused him, still unconvinced.

A dark light glinted in his eyes but he didn't stop smirking irascibly at her. Taking a step forward, Klaus closed the space between them, catching Anne's attention as he invaded her personal space yet again. Her breath caught quietly in her throat, and she swallowed imperceptibly as she lifted her chin so she could look him in the eye. He was so intense, he sucked the light out of the air around her. He seemed not only to consume the space before her, but the very air around her, like a storm cloud silently surrounding her and squandering the oxygen.

"I am not trying to tell you," he noted, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as he watched her, "I am telling you: a werewolf tried to kill you in your chambers last night."

Distantly, she thought she felt the brush of his fingertips against her throat, and she frowned slightly but she couldn't look away from him again. Just as soon as she felt the sensation, it was gone, and she blinked, details from the night before rushing into her mind.

The yellow eyes... the intelligent look in the animal's face... the way it hunted her...

She'd known, without believing, that the wolf was no ordinary animal. It wasn't a dumb beast that had somehow accidentally wandered into her room. The creature possessed a purpose, and it would have killed her if Klaus and Rebekah hadn't intervened. She remembered it all now as if a switch had been flicked on within her brain, and in essence, it had. Without her realizing he was doing it, Klaus released the compulsion on her mind, allowing her to access the details from her near-death experience.

Anne shook her head, dumbfounded, as she stepped back from him and clasped her hand against her stomach. She knew he was right: all of the stories and lies she'd heard since she was a child weren't lies at all. Somehow, amidst all of the insanity already existing in her world, men who could turn into wolves actually existed.

As she looked astoundedly at him, Klaus crossed his arms over his chest and fixed her with a patronizingly knowing look.

"How... did a... werewolf get into my chambers? It couldn't have simply wandered in," she noted, her voice hardening as she attempted to reconcile her disbelief with the truth he'd given her. Looking up at Klaus, she shook her head again, "A wolf couldn't have just walked past the Musketeers and into my rooms."

He sighed, glancing down at his foot as he kicked at the ground with his toe. "The werewolf is among the Musketeers," he revealed flatly.

Anne frowned again, this time more adamantly than before. "That's even more ridiculous than the notion that werewolves exist. The king's Musketeers are avowed to protect my life as they are sworn to protect the king's. A Musketeer would never make an attempt against my life."

Disgruntled by their growing debate and her refusal to accept the facts he was giving her without asking questions, Klaus released an aggravated breath. "Perhaps one of them grew so tired of your characteristic quibbling that he decided to do you in himself," he suggested, receiving a hot glare from her in return.

"A Musketeer would never try to kill me," she repeated confidently, her blue eyes flashing.

"Well, a Musketeer did try to kill you," Klaus argued, squaring off with her as she glared up at him. "Are you so adamant in hating me that you won't believe the truth when I tell it? Kol found the tunic; he saw the wolf escaping your rooms. Perhaps hearing it from someone else's tongue would more easily convince you." He spat the words accusingly at her, and she didn't back down. She kept her irritation well-maintained, unlike him, but her jaw set and he could see the defiance simmering in her eyes.

"I don't hate you," she admitted in a strained tone, her brows drawing together slightly. "You haven't lied to me yet, but there must be another explanation. The Musketeers would never do such a thing, not willingly. I can't believe the men whose lives are sworn to protect us would ever try to kill us."

There was a moment of silence between them as Klaus didn't offer up any further comments. He was already perturbed by the talk of werewolves, as he always was. The topic put him on edge and constantly reminded him of the part of him that was missing. He'd been born a werewolf, and he'd been searching for hundreds of years for a way to break the curse his mother had placed on him. He was still sore over Katerina's escape not even 150 years prior. The thought made him clench his teeth and turn away from the queen so she couldn't see the anger flood over his face, accompanied by the burning of the veins around his eyes.

"Is that all?" Anne asked after a long moment of silence between them. Her voice broke through his inner turmoil long enough to bring him back to the present, and he half-turned his face so he could see her out of the corner of his eye. He didn't reply immediately, so she filled the silence.

"Werewolves... is that all there is out there?" she asked him, her voice taken on a timid tone as she watched him entreatingly.

He turned slowly and looked at her, his body turned sideways as he examined her face. She no longer looked angry, only genuinely inquisitive. He wasn't a liar, that much was true, but he also didn't intend to surrender his family's secret to her.

"Werewolves are all I can tell you about," he admitted in a quiet tone. Subverting the truth wasn't exactly lying.

Anne relaxed slightly and nodded her head, summoning a grateful smile and a small exhalation of breath. "Thank you... for telling me the truth as you promised you would," she told him, folding her hands in front of her as she watched him. A business-like air settled over her, putting space between them again.

Shifting her weight, she moved to leave but paused to look back at him with a sly glint in her eyes he imagined few had seen from their queen. Her lips parted as if she was about to speak, but she hesitated and drew a shallow breath instead before looking up at him out of the sides of her eyes. "Good day, Lord Niklaus." With that, she gracefully moved off across the garden to rejoin her ladies, leaving him wondering what she'd been about to say before she stopped herself.


	17. Chapter 17

Musing silently to himself, Klaus walked pensively back to his family's suite. Lost in thought, he entered the main living chamber without noticing anyone else in the room. He had no mortal fears outside of Mikael, so he remained lost in his daydreams. Anne had made it known that she held a distaste for his company, but her sly grin at him in the garden suggested otherwise. She was certainly a perplexing woman. He had moments where he wanted to crack open her mind and unspool her thoughts so he could read them. Unfortunately, however convenient the idea seemed, it would betray his intentions to brazenly murder her. The hunt for information was always more fun.

He didn't realize he wasn't alone in the chamber until he turned from hanging his coat on the wall and saw Rebekah's outline against the window on the other side of the room. Her golden hair was scooped up and piled in perfectly-done curls as she stood watching out of the window. She seemed almost to glow with some otherworldly radiance, as always, and she wore her divine beauty as a serene mask while she stood perfectly still beside the glass.

"Was it your intention to start a scandal about yourself and Queen Anne, or was that merely a happy coincidence?" she asked him, her smooth voice breaking through the silence of the room as she turned to look at him. A dark, mischievous light glinted in her eyes as she lowered her chin slightly and looked at her older brother.

He fixed her with a derisive look as he sauntered to the center of the room. "What are you blathering on about?" Reaching the drink table, he smoothly poured himself a glass of brandy and purposefully ignored her. Being ignored always aggravated her, and he prided himself on getting under her skin.

Sure enough, her suave act dropped as Klaus paid more attention to his glass than to her, and Rebekah turned to face him fully. "Don't play coy with me," she accused him, leaning forward confrontationally. "Do you honestly think no one will talk about the fact that a man who was not the king got close enough to Anne that he could kiss her if he wanted? Gossip will be flying through these halls like buzzards to a decaying corpse."

Klaus snorted and smiled, taking another sip of his drink. Of course, he cared nothing for gossip, and he couldn't care less what a bunch of insipid humans said about him. Turning to look at his sister, Klaus smiled brilliantly and motioned his glass toward her in silent cheers. "If the mouth-breathing mortals need something interesting to talk about, then so be it. Feel free to join them, Rebekah. You seem hungry to do so," he prodded her, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips for a moment before taking another swig from the glass in his hand.

A hard breath snorted out through her nose, and she momentarily allowed his jab to aggravate her. However, just as soon as it came, the sensation was replaced by a cunning look in her eye that made Klaus narrow his eyes.

"I wonder what Elijah will think," she mused thoughtfully, lacing her hands in front of her and cocking her head to the side. Klaus lowered his glass and watched her, his jaw set as she continued.

"A brother in a scandal with the queen... How improper." For a moment, he thought she'd sardonically batted her eyelashes at him, but he couldn't be sure as he began fuming.

"I don't think Elijah should be bothered with your ridiculous little games, Rebekah," he spoke in a low tone as she continued smirking at him.

"Fine," she acquiesced, stepping toward him and closing the space in the room. Lifting her chin, she looked him straight in the eye, her cunning look lingering. "Since Elijah seems otherwise preoccupied, I'm willing to make you a deal, Nik."

A derisory look filled his face as he looked down at her. "I don't need to make any deals with you, Bekah," he informed her, leaning down slightly in a subconscious attempt to make her uncomfortable. But she was never uncomfortable in his space, so she didn't back down.

"Perhaps you don't care, but every noble in this palace and the grounds beyond will be gossiping about your inability to maintain personal space boundaries, before nightfall. I could see it from up here," she informed him, jutting out her chin and taking a step forward so they were almost nose-to-nose glaring at one another. "People will talk, gossip will spread, and when gossip spreads, what do you think will happen? How well do you imagine we can remain hidden from Mikael then?"

He ground his teeth together and his nostrils flared like an angry bull, but Rebekah benignly smiled up at him. "Of course, it's easy enough to kill a rumor, but you've never been adept at allaying people's thoughts of you."

"That's because I don't care what people think of me," Klaus retorted, squeezing his glass so hard he could hear the glass straining against his grip and he forced himself to relax.

"Yes, but Elijah does. He's like a moral hawk circling over our heads, always trying to keep us in line, trying to help us fit in. Rumors about you and the queen certainly don't help us blend in," Rebekah pointed out, pursing her lips.

Frustrated and aggravated, Klaus breathed out heavily through his nose and shifted his weight, glancing briefly up at the ceiling before glaring at her. It was true - he didn't care about the gossip - but he also knew Rebekah was right. She was on the cusp of society; she desired it almost as much as she craved blood. He could also see events playing out the way she imagined: gossip turning to rumors and spreading to Mikael's waiting ears. If there was anything he feared in the world, it was Mikael's lust for filicide.

If Anne was any woman other than the queen, there wouldn't be an inkling of worry within him. Rumors about other women were quashed as easily as the issue he'd dealt with earlier that day. Put a pregnant lady-in-waiting on a ship, and the problem was solved. But gossip about the queen was far juicier, and idiots could build gossip from even the smallest things. Rumors could spread quicker than the plague.

"Are you resolving to a point, sister?" he asked her, looking back down at her, heat simmering in his eyes.

Rebekah smiled precociously up at him, that coy glint reappearing in her gaze. "I can squash a rumor for you easy enough," she pointed out, swinging her hips slightly as if she were thoroughly enjoying herself in her little game. "But I want you to do something for me as payment." He frowned slightly, unsure what she meant.

"You challenged me to manipulate the king - which really isn't much of a challenge at all, and I believe you're at an unfair disadvantage here - so I propose another challenge. You must similarly woo the queen."

His blue eyes widened slightly before he fixed his sister with a suspicious look. "The queen doesn't even like me. I'll just compel her, and I'll be the victor."

"Tsk tsk tsk," Rebekah chided him, wagging her finger in front of his face and pursing her lips. "No compulsion. Anne must genuinely succumb to whatever charm you may possess."

"So what do you expect me to do? Bed the queen?" he asked her sardonically, scoffing in her face. He didn't tell her his interest had been piqued. He didn't admit he'd already thought about it. He easily could have compelled the human queen to do as he wished: to allow him to have his pleasure with her. But Anne posed a challenge for him by disliking him, not to mention the fact that he prided himself on never having to coerce a woman into his bed. No, however simple it may be, that wasn't his style.

Rebekah raised her eyebrows. "You suggest it as if you've already thought it," she pointed out teasingly.

His nostrils flared and his lips pressed together into a thin line, but she interrupted him before he could snap at her. "No, you don't have to bed her unless you just want to," Rebekah informed him nonchalantly. "It's as simple as this: she must willingly allow you to feed on her. No compulsion... no tricks... You feed on the queen, and you win."

Klaus drew up his chin and looked at his sister down his nose, a pompous smirk curving up the side of his mouth. "Very well, then your challenge has changed as well."

Rebekah lifted her eyebrows in a questioning look, drawing back from him slightly as he leaned toward her combatively. "Making the king fall for you requires no effort since he clearly chases any tail that wags in front of his face," Klaus pointed out, shaking his head. "No, dear sister, that's too easy. You must curry favor with the king and drink his blood. Whichever of us is the first to taste royal blood is the victor."

There was a moment of silence as Rebekah's eyelids lowered and she considered the new stakes. It didn't take long before she nodded curtly and looked him in the eye. "Very well, Nik. We have ourselves a challenge."


	18. Chapter 18

Grasping the thick, elaborately decorated fabric of her dress in her hands as she hastened off the palace grounds, Rebekah glanced briefly over her shoulder. She wanted to be sure she wasn't being followed, and she had no desire for companionship or a chaperone. Satisfied, she slipped into the city beyond the castle, blending in among the bodies milling the streets beyond. Peddlers hocked their wares, calling out to the passersby, and customers massed from booth to booth like sheep drawn to each new shiny thing.

Rebekah ignored them, pushing past as she made her way through the makeshift market. The sound of veins throbbing in necks and the beating of hearts in chests made her lick her plush lips, and she swallowed as she focused on her objective. Dropping the fabric of her skirt from her fingers, she walked purposefully through the herd of humans and searched for the peddlers who had what she really wanted.

Klaus had challenged her to drink the king's blood, but she wasn't overly concerned with winning this competition. Louis was assinine and easy to sway: he didn't pose any interest for her. She could very easily seduce him into letting her taste his vein, and that wouldn't be any fun at all. No, the real fun was making this contest difficult for her brother. She enjoyed aggravating him, not to mention the fact his closeness to Anne had piqued her. Deep down, the child within her pitched a fit that she wasn't at the center of attention as each of her brothers became preoccupied with their own lives outside of her. Sparing a brief evening to insure she wasn't going to die in the middle of their living chambers, none of them had bothered much with her since. To put it succinctly: she was feeling bratty as a result.

Spotting a booth hung haphazardly with trinkets and mystical objects, Rebekah emerged from the crowds and walked toward the woman selling her wares.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle! Could I interest ye in a dreamcatcher, or perhaps a ward to scare off evil spirits?" offered the woman in a bright, jovial voice. Despite her lofting voice and pleasant expression, Rebekah could see the sharp glint in her eye and the piercing way the woman watched her.

Stepping close to the booth, she smiled benignly and glanced over the objects before looking the woman directly in her brown eyes. "I know you're not like these frauds: selling toys with their false promises of protection," she pointed out bluntly. The woman blinked and drew back slightly, her guard instantly rising. Rebekah smiled, and her voice lowered.

"I'm looking for a gift for the queen: something to offer her protection," Rebekah clarified, clasping her hands in front of her as she once again glanced across the witch's booth. There were items she recognized as fakes - rabbits' feet, jars filled varieties of eyes from different wild animals, 'mystical' talismans which were little more than pretty baubles - but she'd been through this market enough times to recognize a true witch when she saw one. She'd noticed the telltale signs of colored powders and the smell of acridity and spice on this woman as she walked. Rebekah had been alive long enough to recognize one of her mother's kind anywhere.

"What leads ye to believe I have anything to sell to ye, vampire?" she spit the word like a slur, glaring hard at the Original sister.

Rebekah merely smiled in return, looking the witch directly in her eye. "The queen was attacked in her private chambers a few evenings ago," she pointed out, ignoring the woman's biting comment as she addressed reality. "I imagine you have your booth set up here, only a short walk from the gates of the palace, because you intend to protect the king and queen with whatever powers you have. I merely wish to do the same thing."

Before the witch could interrupt her, Rebekah continued, "I was hoping for a trinket that would protect the queen from the supernatural. A necklace with both wolfsbane and vervain, perhaps?" She smiled politely at the witch as the woman stood up straight and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why would ye be wanting a necklace that would protect the queen from yerself?" she asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. Rebekah smiled and chuckled lightly.

"Like I said: I want the queen to be safe. You can have it on your conscience that she will be safe not only from werewolves, but there will be no added threat from myself... or my family," she elucidated sincerely.

She was being honest; she wanted Anne safe from future attacks by the terrible beast which had broken into her rooms. She also had personal interest in preventing the queen from being compelled, just in case Klaus decided to cheat.

The witch watched her skeptically for a moment longer, clearly judging whether to trust an Original vampire or not. After a long silence, her expression softened slightly and she uncrossed her arms so she could plant her hands on her round hips.

"I'll do it. Not for ye, but for the queen," she confirmed. Rebekah smiled delightedly and nodded. She understood the woman's cautiousness. A subtle animosity stood between vampires and witches, and her family wasn't known for its gentleness.

"Come back in half a day, and it'll be done," the woman informed her curtly before gathering some small sacks in her hands and turning to disappear into a dilapidated home behind the booth.

Left alone, Rebekah relaxed slightly and sighed, her shoulders dropping with the feint of an exhalation of breath. Waiting was not one of her strong suits, and she refused to return to her family's chambers where she would have to deal with her brothers until the talisman was complete. Staying here would only make her hungry and impatient.

"I don't believe I've ever seen a ray of sunshine so bright," spoke a familiar, masculine voice behind her, interrupting her from her debate on how to best spend her time. She turned slowly to view the source.

"There are certain types one expects to see in this sort of place," Aramis spoke, smirking charmingly as Rebekah turned to face him, "But a beauty as radiant as yours is not among them."

Unintentionally, her chest felt as if it had constricted, as if her heart beat like a normal girl's heart and had the ability to leap excitedly at a man's compliment. Disguising it on her face, she lifted her chin and smiled a small, wry smile. "Have you been following me again, Musketeer?" she asked him, raising her eyebrows.

Aramis smiled, his curled mustache curving upward and accentuating his infectious grin. He shifted his weight, reaching up to remove his hat from his head so he could hold it in front of him. His brown hair was curled exactly where his hat always sat, and he briefly ran his gloved hand through it as he smiled at her.

"Why, on the contrary, this is the place where a king's musketeer should be," he stressed, taking a step toward her so the buckles on his clothes jingled and the leather of his outfit creaked pleasantly. "Patrolling the streets... making sure beautiful maidens don't wander into the unsavory shadows of the city... slaying evil... all in a day's work." His grin grew broader, and Rebekah had to fight the urge not to break out into a grin herself.

"Perhaps I can take care of myself, monsieur," she pointed out, resting her hands over the flat bodice of her dress. "Did you consider that?"

Aramis pursed his lips and nodded, his grin still teasing the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps I did..." he acquiesced, watching her with his dark eyes. "And perhaps I needed an excuse to approach the unapproachable and devastatingly beautiful Lady Rebekah a second time."

That weird fluttering sensation was back in her chest.

Her lips parted as she looked up into his eyes and tried desperately to ignore his flirtatious words. Plastering a smile on her face, hoping to feign indifference, she shrugged her shoulders slightly as she momentarily glanced away from him. Looking back into his handsome face, her eyes hardened slightly. "I won't be easily done in by your empty charms."

He stepped closer to her, almost breaching her personal space, and his lopsided grin returned. "I don't intend for you to be."

The fluttering feeling had most certainly returned, and it aggravated her. She didn't want to be attracted to this handsome bastard with his well-manicured facial hair, his dark eyes, and his charisma. She wanted to hate him because he was a man who would inevitably lead to her heartbreak, but she was finding she couldn't.

He'd listened to her. He'd allowed her to rant and rave unlike any man had done before. Men didn't listen to women in her world, or in any woman's world, but Aramis sat for hours just letting her fume over the king's inappropriate advances toward her. That was unheard of. Even her own brothers didn't do that for her.

She couldn't ignore that his behavior thusfar had endeared her to him. For once, she didn't want to toy with him, to play with him like a cat plays with its meal before it eats. For the first time in literal centuries, she debated allowing her heart to open again.

She knew what Klaus would say. He would say she was being foolish for even imagining such a thing. The last man she'd opened her heart for had attempted to murder them all; he'd been deceiving her from the start. She'd been wounded and broken by that, drugged by her hatred following Alexander's betrayal. She hadn't trusted anyone but her family since.

Caught looking up into Aramis's eyes, the sun shining from behind his curly head of hair, Rebekah realized she didn't have to trust him. There was nothing wrong with finding him beautiful, with desiring his company and wanting to be near him. He made her feel good about herself, and she felt good with him around. She'd only known him for a few days, but he enraptured her with his entire persona. He exuded life and virility, flirtatiousness and charm.

She wasn't obligated to be in love with him to love him.

"Aramis!" yelled a rowdy male voice nearby, tearing violently into Rebekah's daydreaming and breaking the moment between them.

Aramis stepped back and turned to look at the source just as another man bear-hugged him and almost sent them both over with his weight. Laughing, Aramis held his own against the other musketeer as Rebekah stepped back to give them plenty of space, bewildered by what was going on.

"Porthos..." Aramis groaned beneath his friend's weight, bracing him as he drunkenly swaggered back and glanced toward Rebekah. Porthos was dressed similarly, in a musketeer's clothing, except his black hair was in thick, tight curls all over his head and his chin was entirely outlined by a close-trimmed beard. He was darker-skinned and his beaming smile was uninhibited and wildly contagious.

"Oy... is this the one you've been going on about?" Porthos mentioned to Aramis as he threw an arm around the other man's neck. He was attempting a conspiratorial whisper and failing miserably as his drunken tongue betrayed him.

Rebekah stifled a laugh and raised her eyebrows as she looked at Aramis who purposely ignored her. "Porthos... I do believe you're drunk," Aramis informed him, chuckling and stumbling as his friend laid his weight on his shoulders.

"Of course I'm drunk!" Porthos cried merrily, holding up his other hand which was occupied by a half-empty bottle of alcohol which sloshed up and spilled onto the ground with his movements. Turning his head to look at Aramis, Porthos cartoonishly opened his eyes and pressed his forehead against his friend's so his nose was smooshed and his voice was muffled. "That's what one does at a time like thissss."

Aramis coughed and laughed, pushing his companion away and turning to look at Rebekah with a mildly apologetic look on his face. "Excusez-moi, my lady, I should-"

"I understand," Rebekah interrupted him, watching his eyes even as Porthos swayed in his arms and began singing a jaunting drinking tune. Biting her bottom lip to contain her amused smile, she nodded slightly at Aramis. He smiled broadly at her in return, melting another inch of her heart as his eyes twinkled merrily.

"We must plan to meet on purpose sometime," he suggested with a charming smile, bracing his weight by spreading his booted feet as Porthos laid back on him and warbled like a bird off key, waving his bottle of alcohol like a lady's handkerchief.

"We must," Rebekah agreed in a small voice, allowing herself to smile slightly in return.

Pleased with her answer, Aramis wrapped his arm around his friend's waist and forced him onto both of his feet. "Come on, you oaf. Let's get you someplace to dry you out."

Turning back to Rebekah as he reached up and arranged his feathered hat on his head, he tipped his head to her with a smile. "Good day, mademoiselle."

Rebekah nodded at him, watching as he turned the other musketeer and ushered him off down the street and into the crowds of people. Her eyes simmered with her internal struggle as she watched them disappear.

"Awwwwwwww! But she was so pretty! Can't we go back?!" she heard Porthos complain childishly from down the street.

Covering her mouth, a small, genuine laugh escaped her throat and she held her fingers over her lips for a long moment as if holding on to that sound. She hadn't truly relaxed and been free - emotionally or physically - in so very long. What was this country doing to her?


	19. Chapter 19

_Rap. Rap. Rap_.

Frowning, Klaus lifted his head from the painting he'd been intently focused on and looked toward the door which led from the main chamber into the expansive hallway to the palace beyond. Sighing in mild irritation at the interruption, he set his paintbrush and palette carefully so as not to mix the colors together, and crossed the room in a blur to open the door.

Queen Anne stood in the hallway, her hands clasped in front of her as the door opened. Lifting her chin, she recognized him as he opened the door, and her eyebrows rose in reaction. He couldn't quite read if it was pleasant surprise or reluctant dismay; her expressions were always carefully composed, and he wasn't dedicated to read people's thoughts through the movements of muscles in their face. There were much easier ways to find out what someone wanted.

" _Bonjour_... Lord Niklaus," she greeted him, watching his eyes as she spoke. Her mouth opened delicately as if her tongue meant to wet her lips before changing its mind. Instead, she bit gently down on her bottom lip and deftly glanced away from him.

"Hello, Your Majesty," he answered, taking the chance as she looked away to glance at her companions. As always, she was trailed by two ladies-in-waiting who stood a few feet behind her, almost blending in to the gold-inlaid walls on the other side of the hallway. They were little more than life-like statues thanks to their lack of movement. They were dressed similarly to their mistress: their hair piled high on their heads and their collars wide, although never as wide as the queen's, so as to prevent threatening her supremacy even in fashion.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Klaus asked her, looking back at her with his characteristically intense gaze. He leaned into the doorway, one arm braced against the door, his other arm holding him up against the doorframe, and his body filling the empty space between. His posture left little room for her to see anything else, but she purposely ignored his intent gaze for a moment longer as she peered past his shoulder with her chin held high.

Nonchalantly, she questioned, "Is the lord Elijah in?" Her tone was conversational, with a touch of the dismissive, as she finally looked up at him, feigning the most disinterested look she could muster.

Smiling slightly at her, his eyes simmering as they did when he was intrigued or put off, he shrugged his shoulders slightly and pursed his lips. "I suppose he's still lounging in his rooms."

Unamused by him, or at least pretending not to be, Anne fixed him with her bright blue eyes and pursed her lips delicately. "I had hoped to find him," she stated with feminine firmness, boldly looking directly into Klaus's eyes once again as she spoke. There was a glint of a challenge in her eyes, a battle of wills that had become familiar between them. "I wish to know if he has accepted my offer."

Klaus frowned in mild confusion, but didn't have the chance to respond.

"I am here, Niklaus," came Elijah's voice suddenly from behind him, and Klaus rose to his full height, turning slowly and not bothering to remove himself from the doorway. Stepping back enough to look at his brother over his shoulder, he watched Elijah with a questioning look as the older Mikaelson gracefully descended from his bedchambers into the dropped living area.

His most genial, respectful 'Elijah' smile was on his face as he reached the doorway, the width of his shoulders forcing Klaus to step backward despite his childish impudence to remain in the way. "Good day, my queen," Elijah greeted her, bowing slightly at his waist.

"Good day, milord," the queen replied with a smile and a small, polite nod, intentionally ignoring Klaus's burning, curious gaze over Elijah's shoulder. "You have had a few days to consider my offer... Have you come to a conclusion?"

Her face was a mask of polite pleasantness, but she betrayed no true emotions as she watched the elder Mikaelson brother. Elijah cleared his throat with a breathy, quiet laugh, and he glanced down briefly before looking back into the queen's face.

"I have, Your Majesty. Again, I am honored for your consideration," Elijah admitted, and Anne's eyes seemed to harden as if she was guessing his answer, but she remained silent. Elijah drew himself up and offered her a genteel smile that strained at the sides of his eyes as if he was exhausted.

"It would be my honor to accept."

A moment of pleased surprise passed over the queen's eyes, but she broke into a satisfied smile. Behind Elijah, Klaus's face was written with confusion as he narrowed his eyes and glanced between the queen and his brother, wondering what was going on.

" _Trés bien_!" Anne exclaimed jubilantly, her dress rustling as she rose up a few inches standing on her tiptoes in glee. "I have arranged a ride through the countryside tomorrow, and it would be the perfect opportunity for you to become acquainted with your betrothed."

The shock at the word was obvious on Klaus's face as his eyes widened, but he remained perfectly quiet in the background.

"Tomorrow morning, a few hours after dawn. Do come along, milord," Anne offered Elijah, more of a gentle command than a suggestion.

Glancing over Elijah's shoulder as he bowed slightly to her and could no longer see her face, she caught Klaus's eye. He recognized the same look in her clever eyes that he'd seen in the garden when she'd seemed about to tell him something but stopped herself. The twinkle in her eye was as if she was smiling only for him, as if sharing a private joke only he would understand.

"Feel free to bring Lord Niklaus along," she added, the shadow of a smirk teasing at the corner of her lips although her tone remained casual and emotionless. "Having another chaperone besides myself would certainly be appropriate."

"Yes, milady," Elijah responded as Klaus watched Anne with his intrigued gaze. He was wildly curious about what she was up to, and hearing of Elijah's sudden engagement piqued his curiosity. He was burning to know what this was all about and how it had happened without him hearing a word of it.

Their gaze was broken as Elijah stood between them, and the queen promptly excused herself along with her ladies. She disappeared down the hallway as Elijah closed the door and stood facing it for a long moment, refusing to turn to face his younger brother. Klaus crossed his arms over his chest, amusement flickering in his eyes, his eyebrows slightly raised, and his lips pursed as he watched Elijah's back.

"How is it that you always get what you want, brother?" Elijah spoke finally, his voice low and tremulous. Klaus's eyes darkened at Elijah's comment, the words striking a chord within him.

Quite on the contrary, he felt as if he was always one step behind what he truly wanted. For years, he'd been on the hunt for the moonstone that would break his hybrid curse. He'd searched the world for a doppelganger so her blood could spill to make him complete. At every turn, he'd been evaded, always moments too late for what he wanted.

Elijah's rhetorical question began boiling inside of him, burning away his amusement from moments before as he watched his brother turn slowly so the side of his face was visible.

"I was trying to do something to help you... to redeem you," Elijah continued, his monologue falling on the thickening air like drops of acid rain on a stagnating stream. He looked up at Klaus, his brown eyes entreating as he caught his brother's gaze. "I thought, of everything... when the search for the moonstone languished to dormancy... after Father's relentless hunt drove us here... marriage may be the one thing to settle you, if only for a few decades. It wouldn't be much, but it would be something."

His voice stressed at the word, and Elijah turned, holding his hands out slightly at his sides. His intensity was so similar to Klaus's, but so different. It was emotional and passionate in a genteel way that crept beneath one's skin and soothed the nerve endings like sweet music. It was like warmth flowing through the blood that made you want to close your eyes and fall asleep.

And Klaus hated it.

It felt as if he was being soothed by a snake charmer's song: Elijah's voice the lute and his own spine the snake. Grinding his teeth together, his heart hardened toward his brother as Elijah stepped away from the door, shaking his head slightly.

"You intended to shackle me to the confines of a convention you knew I wouldn't want..." Klaus commented, his voice low as he stepped forward slowly, uncrossing his arms and hooking his hands behind his back. His eyebrows rose as he lifted his right hand and gestured in the air. "You intended to control me through a mockery of your own design."

Elijah breathed heavily through his mouth, his eyebrows drawn in a distraught expression as Klaus slowly advanced toward him. He didn't step back but stood near the door, his shoulders rising and falling as he watched his younger brother's anger slowly seething up through him.

"You are snared in your own subterfuge, brother," Klaus informed him, stopping only inches in front of him.

Suddenly, his left hand grasped the back of Elijah's neck, holding him strongly as Elijah stiffened and grimaced directly into his face. Klaus glared hotly at him as the veins in Elijah's neck throbbed with adrenaline.

"This..." he hissed, gripping his older brother violently even as Elijah struggled to regain some of his personal space, "...is why nothing good comes when you make decisions for this family."

"The moonstone... Katerina... Mikael..." he rattled off the list quickly as he shifted his weight, his breath hot across the bridge of his older brother's nose as dug his fingers into the back of his neck, "Your failures at giving this family safety, security, strength, protection... Your righteous quest to redeem me has fallen flat once again, brother."

With supernatural speed, a magical dagger appeared in his hand, and Klaus buried it to the hilt in the center of Elijah's chest. Elijah gasped, his eyes bulging in surprise as he jerked from the pain and shock of the dagger.

"Shhhh," Klaus whispered in a deep, deceptively soothing tone as Elijah shuddered and stiffened in front of him. Elijah stumbled back, his shoulders hitting the door with a resonating thud, and Klaus caught him as he went rigid with the magical slumber of the dagger.

"Perhaps, when you awaken, you will realize the error of your ways."

Klaus's fingers slid into the line of his brother's hair as Elijah released a displeased hiss of air through his clenched teeth. "It will only be a short sleep, brother," Klaus assured him as Elijah's skin paled to a deathly gray while his body turned to marble.

"We have an engagement in the morning, after all," he commented with a dark smirk as Elijah went unconscious.


	20. Chapter 20

The sun had only begun to rise when Anne was dressed and pinning her blond curls high up on the back of her head. A few spare curls fell from the bun, bouncing on the back of her neck as she straightened her riding dress and assessed herself in the floor-length mirror. Atop her crown of golden curls sat a fashionable hat meant only for decoration, with a long, straight feather protruding from it out into the air. This took the place of her bejeweled crown, a hat being somewhat more reasonable attire for a horseback ride into the country.

Narrowing her eyes at herself, she pursed her lips gently and forced her mind to remain blank. She couldn't ignore the excited thumping of her heart, but she ignored the thoughts the sensation inspired.

A soft knock on the bedchamber door saved her from introspection, and she lifted her chin as she breathed in deeply through her nose. "Come in."

Turning and gathering her skirt around her, a modest skirt compared to the flowing dresses she wore in court, she glanced up to see Rebekah entering the doorway. Gleeful to see her friend, Anne ceased fussing over her dress and hastily stepped forward to greet Rebekah. 

"Rebekah! I'm so thankful you are well," she admitted sincerely, reaching out to pull her into a gentle hug.

"I'm much better. Thank you," Rebekah replied as Anne released her and stepped back. Withdrawing the small parcel she held in her hand, she offered it out between them. "I've come to bring you something."

Anne's eyebrows drew together slightly, but she reached out and accepted the gift. It was a maroon box small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, and she balanced it in one hand while she pulled the lid off with the other. Slipping her fingers inside, she gathered the chain and pulled the necklace from the container, her lips parting in surprise at the beautiful gift.

Before she could speak, Rebekah spoke up. "It's a trinket I had made for you as a token of our friendship," she pointed out with a smile. "The jeweler in the market assured me it is designed to protect you so you need not fear a further threat to your person."

Her blue eyes had hardened, and Anne lifted her gaze to look at the other young woman past the necklace she held in her hand. After Klaus told her about the werewolf, the creature had been in the back of her thoughts at all times.

"Rebekah... you saved my life..." Anne spoke in a quiet voice, setting the giftbox aside so she could grasp her friend's hand. Rebekah accepted the touch somewhat reluctantly and avoided her gaze for a moment, but Anne persisted. "And at what cost to yourself? You were injured badly, bed-ridden for days... I'm thankful for you."

Swallowing, she looked down at the talisman dangling from her hand and she twisted her wrist so the bauble rested in her palm. The blue stone sparkled in a fantastical way that didn't seem physically possible. It seemed to catch not only the light, but the very essence of the room. The sight of it was inexplicably comforting, and it was beautiful. 

Looking up at Rebekah, Anne offered her a sad little smile. "I don't have many true friends. Despite my efforts, most of my ladies have no love for a Spanish queen." Her smile drew out into a strained, thin line, and she pulled her hand back so she could clasp the necklace around her neck. Admiring it once more, she finally focused on Rebekah with a grateful expression.

"If you wish for me to wear this talisman to ward off danger, then I shall never take it off," she declared, grinning at her friend. Rebekah's smile slowly spread and she seemed to relax at the words. 

"Now! I hate to run off on you, but I will be late for my morning ride," the queen pointed out, and Rebekah nodded with understanding as she stepped out of the way. Anne gathered her skirts and departed her chambers after offering her friend one last grateful smile.

Left alone in the queen's private quarters, a slow, dark smile curved over Rebekah's lips as she heard the footsteps fade off down the hall. "Yes... I do hope you never take it off, milady," she commented wryly to herself, sniffing in satisfaction.


	21. Chapter 21

He could feel Elijah's ire burning into him as if he was standing too close to a flame, but his older brother didn't deign to look at him. Instead, the two of them sat side-by-side on horseback, dressed to the nines in their finest riding attire. They'd said nothing since Klaus had effortlessly slipped the dagger from Elijah's chest and ordered him to get ready. Since, it had been nothing but stony silence as Elijah mulled over his emotional issues. Klaus ignored it - or at least he pretended to while, in truth, it was eating him alive to know what Elijah was thinking - so they remained as silent as statues as they awaited the queen and Elijah's new fiancee.

The thought of the woman made Klaus smile a dark, curving, mischievous smile as his horse shifted its weight and flicked its tail behind him. Elijah had attempted to subdue him by sinking him into a marriage he knew Klaus would despise, and the entire plan had backfired on him. Klaus smirked wider at the thought. Now Elijah could be the one forcibly married to someone he could never love: a human girl who would die before she could prove herself interesting. For a moment, Klaus had debated killing her on their wedding night, but no, that would be too soon. Let Elijah get used to her first, perhaps even believe he felt something for her, then Klaus could use her as an instrument if the need arose to teach his brother a lesson again. Surely the girl would be tolerable long enough to become collateral damage if he needed it.

Distantly, he heard the sound of hoofbeats and Elijah drew himself up beside him. Two horses, two riders. Only the queen and her lady, Elijah's intended, would be joining them this morning. Oh how easily he could take the life of the queen of France on this ride. With a blur and the snap of her neck, he could fell her like a sapling tree. Her blood would still be fresh on his tongue before he could get back to the palace. The other girl could be compelled to forget, and history would be made.

But then he saw her, her blond curls draining out of the back of her elegant hat and the feather on top of her head bouncing with each beat of her horse's hooves. He paid no attention to the mousier girl riding slightly behind her to the side for she paled in comparison. Klaus was reminded why he hadn't killed the queen yet - aside from the inconvenience her death would bring on a larger scale. Humanity, life, rolled off of her in waves that he could almost taste as she grew near. Even as each breath she took drew her one step closer to death, she defied that mortality in every move of her body. He was clearly and obviously intrigued by this human woman. He wanted to hold her humanity in his hand as it throbbed at his touch. He wanted to lap at her mortality like an immortal dog drinking from the fountains of youth. He had no reason other than wanting to consume her, to feel the tangibility of her existence.

Rebekah's challenge for him to feed from Anne with no compulsion was temporarily forgotten as she pulled her horse to a graceful halt, her lady-in-waiting joining her after a moment. Looking from Elijah to Klaus, her blue eyes lingering for a moment on him before she looked back at Elijah and offered a polite smile, Anne lifted her chin slightly. "Bon matin, monsieurs," she greeted them. 

A shadowy grin teased at the corner of Klaus's mouth as he watched her, brazenly refusing to remove his gaze from her, and he slowly dipped his head in greeting. Simultaneously, the brothers greeted the queen, and while intentionally ignoring Klaus's eyes, Anne glanced to her side, drawing attention to the girl beside her.  
"Lord Elijah, this is Constance. Constance, Lord Elijah," the queen introduced. Elijah put on his most genteel smile - something Klaus assumed was effortless for him - and bowed slightly in his saddle as Constance smiled bashfully at him. Her cheeks turned almost as red as her hair, the blush fleeing down her neck and dying on her chest. What a poor creature, Klaus thought cursorily to himself. She certainly wasn't a vision of virility, especially when compared to the queen herself, and that brought his eyes right back to the female monarch who still intentionally ignored him.

"Milord," Constance greeted Elijah in a meek voice, offering him a kind smile. Elijah politely shook his head, his brows drawing together gently as he smiled easily at her. "Please, do call me Elijah. We are to be married after all," he noted, making her blush again.

Klaus rolled his eyes at the evident awkwardness in this girl and he instantly hoped someone would get impaled on this ride so he'd have something interesting to entertain him. Elijah glanced up from his fiancee to the queen, giving her a pleasant smile that she returned in a moment, silently requesting her permission for this ride to begin. Everyone was undone by Elijah's gentility and Klaus felt his stomach roll with disgust. Anne nodded in wordless acquiescence, and Elijah turned his horse, motioning for Constance to ride beside him as they started off out into the countryside.

That succinctly left Klaus behind with the queen who seemed to be intentionally taking her time before spurring her horse onward. Finally, she looked up at him, her blue eyes watching him intently as she met his gaze. He smiled again, a private, wolfish smile only for her and she raised her eyebrows contemptuously. Her disdain did nothing to deter him, however, and even after she kicked her horse into a trot, he followed doggedly behind her.

"How are you this morning, Your Majesty?" he asked her, sardonically drawling her title, and easily catching up to ride beside her. He watched her with his intense gaze, intentionally trying to make her uncomfortable, but she didn't balk beneath his stare. On the contary, she nonchalantly ignored him as if he didn't exist, and that served to make him even more persistent. Deep down, on a level of denial, he wanted her to pay attention to him. He was an Original; he deserved every ounce of attention he could get. His power was such that he could snap her in half with little more than a thought. He was the one she should bow to, not the other way around.

But the laws of human society deigned that he obey her instead, so he kept himself in check. There was part of him that also wished to follow the rules Elijah had laid down for their family upon first arriving in this country, although he would no longer openly acknowledge the desire to garner his older brother's approval. Elijah's attempt at the forced engagement was enough to leave Klaus angry with him for far longer than a day, but he let it go for now and focused instead on the radiant humanity beside him.

"I am well," Anne replied plainly. Glancing over at him for only a moment before looking back at the trail, she flicked the reins in her hands to urge her mare into a quicker stride. Klaus instantly reacted to keep pace. "And yourself?"

He pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders slightly, an action Elijah would chide him for since it wasn't 'proper'. "I grow bored easily with small talk," he admitted candidly, his eyes blazing as he looked over at her. "I find it woefully dull and inefficient."

Seemingly only taken aback for a brief moment, Anne shot him a look and shook her head incredulously. "Does your tongue have no guard?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked at him. Now he had her attention, and he smirked in response.

"I have no need for pointless conversation," he clarified, "I would make a very poor politician. That is Elijah's forté."

"That you would," she agreed openly, scoffing slightly out loud. She readjusted her gloved hands on her reins and looked out across the rolling hills as they emerged from a copse of trees, following several yards back from his older brother and her lady-in-waiting so their conversation would not be overheard.

"Is that what would make you enjoy my companionship? If I lied through my teeth, spoke volumes about your beauty and your cunning and praised your weasel-like husband as the savior of the people, then I would be an acceptable conversationalist?" he suggested, his eyes sparking heatedly. He hated fitting into molds sculpted by the hands of weak-minded men.

His words ignited a familiar tension between them, a tension the horses sensed causing their ears to raise and swivel, their muscles tightening even as they ran, and Anne stiffened in her saddle. Her tongue was as quick as his, however, and she'd never been one to back down from a verbal sparring.

"Would speaking of my beauty and cunning be a lie?" she asked, her pride and her defiance peaking in the way she held herself as she looked challengingly at him. There was another tone he recognized - could it be that the queen was flirting with him? - but it was gone before the thought fully came to him, and she continued before he could respond.

"You should be thanking me instead of stultifying me," she pointed out, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she looked off down the trail and imperceptibly slowed her mount.

"What ever are you talking about?" he asked her, looking at her in mildly exasperated confusion. Sitting back in his saddle, his horse slowed and his brother and the other human woman were forgotten as he watched the queen riding beside him.

The glimmer of a mischievous look ghosted across Anne's face, and as she turned her head, her blond curls caught the breeze and danced, bouncing across the back of her neck as she fixed him with her blue eyes. The potency of her mortality flickered in her gaze like a flame waiting for him to snuff it out. The sensation was so strong, he licked his lips at the thought and tightened his grip on his reins.

"Your brother proposed the idea of your marrying one of my ladies," she clarified dispassionately. "I turned him down immediately, of course." She had glanced back toward the trail, and she took another moment to turn and look at him again, indifference on her face although her eyes burned waggishly. "You would never suit one of my ladies."

"Wouldn't I?" he asked instantly with a mixture of indignation and interest.

"Of course not," Anne countered as quickly, their words parrying like two swords clashing in the wind. She was watching him now, her eyes burning as his burned. So distracted were they that their horses had slowed to a walk and their companions had pulled off ahead to some distance. Klaus ignored the inappropriateness of their seclusion and intently watched the queen of France as she explained herself.

Waving her hand dismissively, her eyebrows arching once more, she pursed her lips. "You are too hot-blooded, too quick-tempered, too... " her eyes flickered over him, attempting a feigned disinterest and failing miserably. He could practically smell the endorphines leaking out of her now even as her face spoke of absolute disinterest. He was a wolf picking up on her scent, knowing without her admittance that the spark between them from the evening of the masquerade ball had been reignited. His eyes blazed then, knowing he'd finally attracted her attention, and a slight smirk caught the corner of his mouth as he watched her and awaited the conclusion to her sentence.

Anne's eyelashes fluttered over her eyes for a moment and she gently rolled her eyes and her head, shrugging one shoulder upward slightly before huffing quietly. "I'm afraid you would eat a wholesome girl alive," she concluded with the slight lift of her chin, her eyes carefully trained on the trail until she could no longer resist, and she turned to look at his face to judge his reaction.

Klaus felt the gentle whorl of victoriousness as he saw the way her pupils had dilated when she looked at him. Through all of her denial, he had managed to creep in anyway. His challenge with Rebekah would be easily won now. He merely had to push his advantage with this human queen.

"What do you think me: some sort of cannibal?" he asked, amusement flickering in his eyes. No, he was far more dangerous than a cannibal. He was a vampire, an Original, a latent hybrid. He was her worst nightmare. She was his prey, and she didn't even know it.

Anne scoffed, allowing a smile to grace her mouth, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the chemical reactions bursting throughout her body. 

"You are worse," she declared, making him raise his eyebrows and incline his head toward her. She cast a look at him from beneath the brim of her hat, her curls rolling over her shoulders only to bounce back to her shoulder blades. 

"You are the worst shade of knave," she added, and although her words should offend him, they did nothing of the sort. He read from the way her voice lilted, the way her words danced from her tongue, that she was attempting to convince herself in breathless tones as much as she hoped to convince him. If only she could speak without her throat constricting and her eyes wandering to his lips when she looked at his face...

"A handsome, passionate man is the worst sort of devil for a young, impressionable lady," she finished, nodding slightly as she raised the reins in her gloved hands and squared her shoulders. Her entire body was fighting whatever was going through her head, and Klaus found himself wildly fascinated and entertained by the show. It was his own personal play drawing through the sinews of her flesh, stretching her muscles and forcing her body to move and react to her recalcitrance. 

"My brother is far more suited for the impressionable, for the pure," he noted, his smile turning into a wicked grin as he glanced to where Elijah rode near to his new fiancée. Elijah was designed for propriety and gentility where Klaus was not, and never would be. He was as much a monster as the rest of them, but his demons - if he had them - were far deeper than his siblings'.

After only a breath, Klaus returned his gaze to the queen, following the curve of her jaw to her jugular vein where he luxuriated for a moment in imagining he could see the beating of her heart from this far away. "And what sort of lady do you suppose would suit me?" he asked probingly, his blue eyes igniting with a tick of his eyebrows when she turned to look at him.

For a moment, Anne was reproachful, seemingly aghast he would even ask such a question, but they both knew it was all a show. This was a delicate, subtle dance of a woman entitled with much responsibility who was fighting her mounting attraction for a man she should not want. She shouldn't even be as alone with him as she was, so far behind his brother and her lady, but she made no urge to catch up to them. 

Elijah and Constance were as much their chaperones than the other way around, and the realization caused Klaus to smile knowingly over at the queen as she pulled in a breath through her parted lips and summoned a witty retort.

Tweaking her eyebrows upward in an umbrageous masquerade, Anne fixed him with simmering blue eyes. "That remains yet to be seen."

With the phantom of a half-smile, the fabric of her dress rustled as she spurred her horse forward to catch up to his brother and companion. Klaus stayed behind for a moment, watching her ride off with a wry smile before he urged his horse forward to follow. This game of cat and mouse had just grown far more interesting to him. He'd finally wrung out, however subtly and discreetly, that the queen was subject to an attraction toward him. 

He would win Rebekah's challenge. He would come out the victor as he always had.


	22. Chapter 22

Elijah was more than pleased to put space between Niklaus and himself. He knew, with chagrin, his ire toward his brother as a result of the daggering would soon ebb. His personal desire toward his brother's redemption far overpowered his pique and, in spite of Niklaus' personal affront toward him, Elijah's mind already worked toward future miens. He was disinclined toward another subtle attempt at control his brother, but that wouldn't prevent him from keeping a close eye. With Niklaus' attention currently preoccupied with the queen herself, the eldest living Mikaelson was free to cast his attentions elsewhere, however temporarily.

That meant his new fiancée was free to absorb the amount of attention he could give her. As an Original vampire with the ability to cast his superior mind down several paths at once, Elijah found no difficulty offering the maiden enough of his attention to remain as polite and genteel as always.

By human standards, she was attractive, he supposed. Her dark red hair, maroon until the sunlight playfully changed it like a chameleon's skin, was pulled up into tight curls affixed around the back of her head and obediently held in place by pins down to her neck. Her skin was appropriately pale, albeit not as white as the queen's porcelain skin, marking her as a girl risen to her station and not born to it. He assumed the queen who, feeling like an outsider in the country she was obliged to call home, had gathered unassuming ladies to be closest to her, not caring for their nobility over loyalty to herself.

This thought further flattered Elijah to know the queen thought highly enough of him to pair him with one of her trusted ladies. Perhaps this, or she intended to subtly control him by keeping him close through his future wife, but Elijah chose to be honored instead of paranoid. Yes, his plan had soundly backfired on him, but he would make the most of it.

While his intention was not to fall in love with this human girl, she did deserve a safe, comfortable life, if not a romantic one. A marriage between Constance and himself could bestow an amount of normalcy and stability to his family and would solidify their strengthening presence in French society. If Mikael were to find them, they would be buffeted as never before and able to defend against his attack.

These were the rationalizations he told himself since his plan to marry off Niklaus had failed. He refused to view it as a defeat, although out of no competitive urge within him. He felt no need to defeat his brother and he accepted the turn of events merely as a fortuitous shift of the universe. He was far better suited for the diplomacy of marriage - something neither of his brothers was adept for at all - and was a marvelous match for this plan. His family’s position within the aristocracy would be further fortified now, with the added bonus of Rebekah as one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting and Kol as a king’s Musketeer. Niklaus’ benefits were superlative. In Elijah’s mind, as always, his middle brother’s fierceness would be remain his most redeeming quality. The art was coaxing that ferocity in the right direction.

He didn’t particularly mind if his brother’s characteristic hotheadedness was temporarily aimed toward him. At least it had an outlet that wasn’t one of the very mortal monarchs of France.

Elijah had already guessed toward his younger siblings’ wager. Rebekah and Niklaus were prone to challenging one another: both personally and externally. He was accustomed to cleaning up their messes, and as long as they refrained from drawing undue attention the family, he didn’t bother stopping them. Their naturally quarrelsome relationship reminded Elijah of better times and younger days, times when they argued over a place by the fire or a seat at the dinner table. Six hundred years later, their targets were much bloodier and more dangerous, but Elijah was driven nostalgic nevertheless.

“And what of you, Monsieur?”

A moment too late, he realized his daydreaming had distracted him entirely, and he’d lost track of the conversation.

Glancing over at the young human lady riding nearby, readjusting his horse’s reins in his hands, Elijah offered her a benign smile.

“I apologize, my dear, I was distracted. Please forgive me,” he asked sincerely. 

Beside him, Constance smiled and brushed away his rudeness with a shake of her head. She seemed to be an amicable girl, a fact for which Elijah was thankful.

“Surely you have much on your mind, as most men do.” Hearing a tone in her voice, he raised an eyebrow slightly and cast a glance in her direction, but her face was turned away and he was unable to judge if she’d been sincere or if he’d heard a note of facetiousness in her tone. Intrigued, he readjusted himself in his saddle and straightened to examine the countryside spread out before them.

“What of your family, milord?” Constance finally repeated herself, bouncing jauntily in her saddle, the rustling of her dress lost in the din of their horses’ hooves.

Elijah pondered for a moment, forming the most diplomatic answer for her. Becoming his wife, Constance wouldn’t remain ignorant of his family’s true nature forever, but the longer he could keep her in the dark, the better.

The truth was his family was ancient. They were predators; they were violent and often cruel. As the only human in their midst, Constance could easily become a treat for his irascible siblings. Although he wasn’t foolish enough to imagine she would remain solely his for the rest of her existence - he wasn’t wildly possessive the way Niklaus was, and his siblings considered all new acquisitions to be community property - he desired to protect her as best he could. He was disinclined to repeat the past.

“I imagine my siblings and I aren’t much different from any other family,” he commented good-naturedly. “All families have their differences, but we remain together as one.”

“Long ago, we were estranged from our father following our mother’s unfortunate and untimely death, but we have maintained a family among us. And that is the most important fact of all, is it not?”

“Family is quite important, indeed,” Constance agreed, with a hint of morose thoughtfulness behind her tone. She was a young lady, not much older than a girl, whose own life was fraught with duty and societal expectation moreso than personal desire and aspiration. She had done her duty to her father by becoming the queen’s lady-in-waiting. She had found a suitable match for a husband. The significant difference in their age and the lack of romance between Lord elijah and herself did not matter. She was duty-bound on a path in life.

Elijah could relate.

Giving her a grateful, understanding smile, he intended to speak again when he was interrupted by the arrival of the queen on her horse alongside Constance. Her blond hair, curled to precision along the back of her head, bounced beneath her hat as she reined in her mount and offered them both a smile.

“I am positively famished,” Queen Anne declared with a touch of the dramatic that Elijah found uncharacteristically odd. “Let us take a rest and share a morning treat.”

At her suggestion, Constance spurred her horse and followed the queen at a trot to a nearby copse of trees. Patiently, Elijah held back for a moment until his younger brother arrived beside him. Wordlessly, he examined Niklaus’ face and instantly recognized the mischievous fire in those blue eyes. The slightest of frowns furrowed between Elijah’s eyebrows and Klaus gave him a guileless smile before spurring his gelding after the human females. Entirely unconvinced that his brother wasn’t up to trouble, Elijah watched him for a long moment before following, the last to enter the shade of the trees.


	23. Chapter 23

Elijah's suspicions were correct, although he couldn't know it.

Klaus's intentions toward the queen were progressively growing darker and more malevolent. His imagination had amplified everything he was feeling until the imagined taste of her blood stung his tongue and he was forced to resist the urge to salivate. Barely able to sit still, he found reclining in the shade grass beneath the trees utterly unbearable and soon returned to his feet to stalk off through the trees, leaving his older brother to entertain their companions. Unbeknownst to him, Anne deftly stole a glance after him a moment before he disappeared into the trees.

Klaus's ridiculing comments about small talk had unwittingly mirrored her personal thoughts about the matter, and now, she was finding it exceptionally difficult to focus as Elijah and Constance chatted politely over a light snack of berries and bread. Shifting the positioning of her feet beneath her expansive skirts as she itched to stretch her legs although she'd only recently taken a seat, Anne forced herself to remain present as long as she could possibly bear. Etiquette dictated that she, as both the queen of France, supreme hostess within the country, and as a chaperone to the newly-engaged couple, remain present so as to disallow anything inappropriate from happening between them.

But her feet ached to walk and her mind raced so she was unable to maintain her side of the conversation.

Soon enough, she polited excused herself and, with Elijah's gentlemanly assistance, rose from the ground to take a walk. Kindly refusing Elijah's offer of an escort, assuring him not only that she wouldn't be gone long but that his conversation with his bride-to-be was far more important and interesting than escorting a married woman into the woods, the queen set out on her own.

Intentionally steering away from the path the younger Mikaelson brother had taken into the trees, she gracefully lifted her skirts and meandered past the horses. Brushing her gloved fingers over her mare's nose, she paused, cast a quick glanced back toward her guests to assure herself they were preoccupied, and pulled off her glove to free her hand. Stretching her slender fingers as they were liberated from their cloth prison, she smiled and petted the horse's nose again. The velvety snout pressed affectionately against her bare hand and the mare breathed out gently into her fingers.

For a moment, Anne was not a queen. She was a young woman free to be who and what she wanted to be. She was free to walk in her bare feet without fear of being criticized, and she carefully slipped off her shoes to test it. The freedom, however trivial, was wildly liberating in a way she'd never experienced.

Abandoning her shoes and both of her gloves by the horses, she hoisted her dress and picked her way through the shade grass beneath the trees. She couldn't resist the smile that had broken across her face, and she didn't aim to try. A gurgling laugh akin to one appropriate only during her girlhood bubbled up her throat as she bounded fleetfootedly down a sloping decline into the dried-up bed of a smooth-rocked gully.

Halting at the startling snap of a branch behind her on the bank, she dropped her skirts and whirled around to face the sound. Her face burned with embarrassment as Klaus materialized out of the shadows beneath the trees with an amused smile on his face.

She was as mortified as she would have been if he'd caught her doing far worse than running through the trees barefoot. Indignantly, preparing to defend herself against his characteristically mocking tongue, she drew herself up and cast a dismissive glare down her nose at him as he smoothly descended the slope toward where she balanced on the smooth stones in the dried creekbed.

"If you intend to ridicule me, hold your tongue," she ordered, intentionally looking away both in an attempt to salvage her dignity and to appear thoroughly nonchalant. Her body still buzzed with the heat generated by their prior conversation, and she stamped it down now in a vain attempt to forget it ever happened.

But he simply chuckled before pursing his lips, raising his eyebrows slightly, and looking at her through the tops of his eyes. For a moment, she was overcome by how very attractive he was, and her stomach swirled at the inappropriate thought.

"I intend to do nothing of the sort," Klaus admitted sincerely, his blue eyes glittering as he stalked across in front of her. Precisely, he placed a foot on each stone as he moved, holding his arms out at his sides more for show than out of any real need for extra balance.

"I like you this way," he admitted as he took another measured step toward her, and he meant it. He'd watched her hungrily from the trees, picking up on her scent easily once she separated herself from his brother and the other human girl. Leaving her to her own devices for a time, arrogantly wondering for several moments if she was searching for him, he was pleasantly surprised to watch her divulge herself of a few of her worldly entrapments. When she'd fled, carefree, through the trees, he'd trailed her in fascination.

His growing, literal thirst for this woman was becoming insurmountable, and he ached to indulge himself. Now that they were alone, he wouldn't be able to cull his hungers for much longer, and he didn't intend to. Her humanity pulsed in front of him, even stronger than ever, a vibrating forbidden fruit he longed to sink his teeth into. His entire body trilled with it now, until only his delight for the hunt prolonged the inevitable.

His fingers twitched at his sides but his smile remained pleasant, and Anne remained unsuspecting as he stalked closer to her. She was clearly surprised by his candidness, perhaps even flattered through her indignance and embarrassment.

"What way do you mean?" she asked conversationally, finally relaxing enough to toy with the embellishments on her dress with her fingertips. She still watched him intently - as any proper lady should when alone with a man - but her stance had softened and loosened some of its defensive edge. He could hear her startled heartbeat had relaxed, quickening in the way he recognized from earlier. He took the opportunity to close the distance between them until they were standing merely a breadth apart.

"Alive," he breathed, looking down at her from where he now towered above. Without her shoes, she was quite shorter than him, and he could see the rise and fall of her breasts with each severe inhale she took. He could see her pulse beating its rhythm in her throat. Absently, he licked his lips, his own temperature rising with a multitude of lusts.

He was assaulted by the lusts of the flesh and of the tongue, his potpourri of hungers becoming vibrantly clear now that he was within her space. His skin prickled with the excitement and thirst, his hands itching to grasp her flesh, his fangs aching to sink into her porcelain skin.

"You…" she barely managed, swallowing so the skin of her throat rippled with the action before she could continue. Her eyes flickered to his lips unconsciously before she forced herself to look back into his eyes. Her heartbeat was racing again, but this time it wasn't from fear. The endorphins pouring off of her body washed him in their radiance: her body telling him everything he needed to know even as her lying tongue denied it.

"You forget your place, monsieur," she throatily croaked, her blue eyes burning as she looked into his gaze. "You're so close."

She stated it dumbly as if he wasn't already aware.

He could hear her breathing now, each inhale and exhale mirroring the swelling of her perfect breasts. He lusted to sink his fingers around them, to feel her body naturally working as he drank from her.

"I am," he commented casually, his voice rich and deep as it always was when his hunger was at its peak. His voice became his instrument to lure his feast, to comfort his prey before he succumbed them to his will.

"I am a married woman," she stated, her voice murmuring in her throat.

He took another step toward her.

She stood her ground.

"You are," he answered simply, nonplussed.

The fabric of her skirt rustled as his boots slipped beneath it, his toes swallowed by satin. She swallowed and he could hear it. Her eyelashes fluttered over her eyes, and her vivacity beaded up across the surface of her skin. He imagined she was glowing now, radiant with her liveliness, with her humanity.

"You should take a step back," Anne insisted, lifting her chin in her characteristic defiance toward him. It served to bring her face closer to his as he further invaded her space, a wolfish smile spreading across his handsome face.

"Perhaps you should take a step back," Klaus suggested archily.

The pitch of his voice sent a shiver racing down her spine, and her plush lips parted to release a silent whuff of air.

"It is a gentleman's duty to respect a lady's space," she countered, her hands flattened across her corsetted belly now, her lips remaining parted just so she could pull air into her lungs. Her pupils dilated until her eyes looked almost black, and the sound of her skirts crushing against his shins was the only sound in the clearing other than the deafening rush of her blood in her ears. She felt dizzied by his closeness, and she simultaneously prayed he would pull away even as she discovered she wanted him to crush the space from between them.

"I am no gentleman," Klaus reminded her huskily, reaching up to touch her, catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

His touch ignited her like a struck match to a candle's wick, and a shaky breath escaped her mouth before she could stop it. His thumb absently brushed across her chin and his eyes examined the fullness of her face.

She was more beautiful, more alive, more human, than anything he'd ever cared to see. This was the sort of humanity he wished to possess. He didn't want it for himself; he didn't want the mortality which accompanied it. He wanted to consume it. He wanted to snuff it out as badly as he wanted to prolong it. He was surrounded by death, and here she was: a blossoming flower twitching in the breeze waiting for the boot to stamp her out.

His hand left her chin and traced beneath the line of her jaw, and she trembled, unable to reproach him for the inappropriateness of his touch. She was far past that now. Even if her tongue lied and disapproved, the healthy pulse of her heartbeat and the tingling between her thighs would betray the truth to her brain.

Briefly, Anne's eyes closed as his hand traced her jaw and reached her neck. Typically, he was not this patient with his victims. He preferred precision and speed. He rarely played with his food. But as his fingertips inexorably drew down her jugular vein, he released a delighted breath. There it was: the rush of her life literally at his fingertips. His hand curved, his knuckles drawing a line down her throat to her shoulder.

Suddenly, he froze, his knuckles still resting on her skin, his eyes going cold. Anne's eyes sprang open, as she seemed to momentarily remember herself and her brow furrowed as she looked up at him.

"Where did you get this?" Klaus asked suddenly, removing his hand from her skin and glaring at the chain which he'd just noticed hanging down from her neck and disappearing into the valley between her breasts. The talisman on the necklace was visible from his angle as he loomed over her, his hips almost pressed against hers.

Momentarily confused, Anne pulled her chin back and glanced downward, realizing he meant the bauble around her neck. Reaching up, she pulled it free of her dress, the blue stone glittering iridescently as it spun free into the air, dangling.

"It was a gift," she answered easily, turning her palm so the jewel slipped into her hand and caught every ounce of sunlight within its depths.

Klaus lifted his chin and suddenly disappeared from her space, surprising her with the suddenness of his retreat. A chill swept over her as he removed himself, the heat within her body seeping back down to its depths as she realized how close she'd come to… something.

"From whom?" he asked accusingly, his eyes hard now. He was the antithesis to what he'd been only moments before, all lust and hunger for her gone from his gaze. Piqued that he'd put her so easily in a tizzy, embarrassed that she'd so obviously swooned for him as surely many lesser women had done before her, Anne drew herself up and dropped the bauble to look at him with a proud stare.

"Your sister," she answered firmly, her queenly stature returned along with her wits.

Instantly, Klaus's eyes flared with anger but he said nothing. Instead, he spun and, without an excuse, he disappeared into the shadowy trees.

Left alone, breathless with surprise and recovering from whatever near-misstep she'd almost just given herself over to, Anne huffed a hard breath and tried to gather her wits. She needed to return to the clearing soon or she knew Constance and Elijah would notice her absence. And, moreso than ever, she needed to get her thoughts back under submission. She was a married woman, and fantasizing over a man who was impossible, tetchy, and most-importantly not her husband, was unacceptable. Ashamed of herself, she gathered her skirts in her hands and hastened up the slope toward the camp.


	24. Chapter 24

“Rebekah!” Klaus bellowed, the door flying open so violently in his haste that it slammed forcefully against the wall, rattling the fixtures.

Seated primly in one of the many sitting chairs in the family’s suite, Rebekah calmly looked up from the book she was reading and coolly assessed her brother.

“You seem upset, Nik,” she noted conversationally, warranting a feral growl out of him as he stalked over to her.

“You cheated,” he seethed, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on her dress. Her cool gaze dissolved into ire, if for no greater reason than him salivating on brocade.

Lifting her eyebrows, her blue eyes glinting archly, she replied, “What ever do you mean?”

Klaus lunged at her, grabbing her shoulders and making the wooden back of the chair creak, in danger of splitting. Rebekah jolted in surprise, confrontation sparking in her eyes as she glared into her brother’s face, only inches away.

Tilting his head, his upper lip twitching as if threatening to smirk mirthlessly at her, his chin jutted forward slightly as he spoke again.

“Don’t be contrary, sister. The queen’s necklace…”

As he mentioned it, Rebekah’s pique dissolved into an amused half-smile.

“...It contains both vervain and wolfsbane, and she informed me it was a gift from you.”

“So it was,” she answered with a small smile. Her eyes widened innocently. “To protect her from the beasts that would dare attempt to harm her,” she declared in a sweet voice.

Klaus lifted one hand and slammed it down on the back of her chair, splintering it with the force, and pulled his other hand back to point a finger in her face.

“That wasn’t part of our wager,” he pointed out as she continued smugly smirking at him.

“If you are so willing to change the conditions, then so will I,” he threatened.

She refrained from rolling her eyes. “You’ve always hated losing.”

“This--” he cut himself off with a wordless, petulant huff, glaring angrily at her a moment before continuing, “... is not losing. You _cheated_.”

Before she could interrupt him again, he stood to his full height, his chin dipping as he squared his shoulders. He looked every bit like a crotchety child who’d had his favorite toy taken away.

“Amendment to the rules,” he announced dramatically - Klaus had always had a flair for the dramatic - holding his hands out at his sides. “You, dear sister, are to let no man near you. If you so much as feed on a stable boy, I will personally attend to his death.

Rebekah’s countenance fell and she surged up from her seat, the fabric of her gown rustling angrily.

“You intend to punish me for an amusing prank? Because you must actually put forth an effort to win our wager? Because victory hasn’t effortlessly fallen into your lap?!” She was almost yelling at him before he cut her off by confrontationally stepping forward to breach her personal space once more.

“You violated the terms of the game by buying yourself an unfair advantage. I had her; she was almost _mine_ ,” he barked angrily.

His tone peaked her interest and her eyes blazed. Now she knew her suspicions were right. Something about this human queen had his attention.

Her head burst full of indignation and aggravation as she realized it. It was wholly unfair. She hadn’t experienced true infatuation in literal centuries. It felt wildly unjust that her beastly brother could allow himself to succumb to his hungers and his lusts when she was incapable.

Glaring at him, Rebekah snapped, “So you’re miffed that you can’t have the queen as your plaything, and you’re taking it out on me.”

Klaus didn’t deny it, and that was how she knew it was true. He lifted his chin and glared right back at her instead.

“You’re being a petulant child: angry that someone has kept you from what you want,” she added, irritably.

His eyes narrowed and he lifted his chin, a characteristic sign that his anger was reaching a boiling point.

“The new terms are simple, sister. You are not so much as to allow a man to touch you. Not even to feed. Or is that too difficult for you?” he repeated, patronizingly.

Rebekah’s eyes blazed furiously. She’d not wanted romance for five hundred years, not wanting to give her heart away again. What angered her now was her brother’s presumptuousness at commanding her.

As a wordless protest left her lips, Klaus’s eyes sparked again and he cut her off.

“Manipulating the king was never going to be a challenge for you. You deserve a challenge,” he stated, stepping toward her again. Dropping his chin, he bent slightly at the knees so they were at eye level and reached out to grip her shoulders, giving her a patronizing look.

“Disallowing men from getting close to you will stimulate your brain and chase away your ennui. I’m only trying to protect you. I know how frivolously you can throw your heart around… we all do,” he added, pausing a beat to let the sting of his words sink in.

“I’ve seen the way that musketeer looks at you.”

Of course he had. She’d been a fool to think he hadn’t noticed because he was besotted with his pursuit of Anne. There wasn’t a one of her would-be suitors who had been overlooked by Niklaus.

“We wouldn’t want another Alexander situation on our hands.”

That statement struck the final chord within her, and anger and hurt constricted her throat and chest. Smacking his hands off of her, she shoved him away.

“You are a beast,” she hissed ardently, trying her best not to cry.

Klaus grinned wickedly. “If you don’t adhere to the new terms, I will personally see to it that any man with whom you breach our contract dies a gloriously gruesome death.”

Her jaw set with anger, Rebekah spun on her heel and departed from the chambers. Their game was over. Now, it was nothing more than a threat punishing her for denying him what he wanted.


	25. Chapter 25

"I apologize again for my brother's sudden disappearance."

 

Elijah wrapped his arms around his back, comfortably clinging to his forearms as he smiled politely and glanced over at his companion.

 

Beside him, Constance shook her head, making her mahogany curls roll and bounce around in her topknot before she met his gaze and gave him a genuine smile. In just a short time, he was realizing she had a pleasant personality and was more unflappable than he'd first believed. Marrying her wasn't what he'd planned for himself, but it would be a good, political marriage. He was the best one to carry out such a task, after all. As the day wore on, he'd decided he could easily do this, and, as was his nature, he would care for the human girl as best he could.

 

"There's no need to apologize, Monsieur," she reassured him, dropping her hands down into her skirts as she walked along beside him. She wasn't as prim and proper as the queen, but Elijah couldn't say that he minded. Constance didn't have the natural smoothness to her gait like a highborn, but she seemed genuine in a society that was fraught with fallacies and put-on kindness. 

 

Elijah smiled a bright smile and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly as he cast a look over at her, half-turning his upper body as he continued walking smoothly alongside her. “Didn’t I tell you you could call me Elijah?” he reminded her, getting another smile out of her. He could be as charming as his younger brothers. He was merely a bit out of practice. 

 

“There’s no need to apologize,  _ Elijah _ ,” she repeated herself, her eyes twinkling as she grinned at him. As she made eye contact with him, she cleared her throat and then glanced away, remembering it was inappropriate for a lady to flirt with a gentleman, even a gentleman to whom she was due to be married.

 

Sensing her discomfiture, he glanced away and then gestured toward an open stone bench along the edge of the garden path. Quietly, she accepted the suggestion and headed toward it, spinning her hips and sitting all in one fluid movement so her dress was appropriately spread out around her, waterfalling to the ground on one edge of the bench but leaving enough space for him to sit on the opposite side. Gracefully, he lowered himself, sitting straight-backed as he cast his appraising gaze across the gardens, admiring the space. 

 

The royal gardens certainly were a marvel, and he enjoyed spending time here. After Klaus’s sudden disappearance on their horseback ride through the countryside, he’d chaperoned the queen and his fiancée back to the palace. The queen had departed surprisingly fast upon arriving on the grounds, returning to her rooms but ordering that Constance enjoy herself. He sensed it was another ploy to help them get to know one another better, but he didn’t entirely mind it. 

 

Yes, his initial plan had backfired in his face. Instead of Niklaus marrying and settling his wild nature (at least to some degree), Elijah was beset with the obligation. However, the longer the thought upon it, he recognized it was wiser to put the task upon himself. He was more levelheaded than any of his siblings, and he could best care for a wife and help them fit into society as a whole. Honestly, he was a bit disappointed in himself that he hadn’t recognized it sooner in the midst of his attempt at foiling his brother’s basest nature.

 

“Have you been in the queen’s care for long, milady?” Elijah asked Constance, pulling his attention away from his thoughts and putting it on her. While most men thought women as lesser beings, Elijah did not. If she was going to be his wife, he wanted her to feel comfortable enough to talk to him.

 

He also wasn’t a fool. He knew she would find out about their being vampires sooner or later. He wouldn’t be able to hide it from her forever. Of course, he fully intended to carefully compel her so as to protect her and his family, but it was inevitable. She would live a complicated life as his wife, and he preferred her to enter it as comfortably as possible. Besides, he had no desire to marry a woman he didn’t know, even if this was an arranged marriage. 

 

“Just a few months,” she admitted. “My father thought it a good way to socialize me, and for me to find a husband.” 

 

His suspicions had been correct.

 

Elijah gave her a pleasant smile, a touch of amusement lighting his dark eyes as she glanced shyly over at him. Seeing his smile seemed to relax her, and he heard the nervous beating of her heart settle slightly.

 

“I understand that an arranged marriage isn’t every young lady’s dream,” he noted, still watching her out of the sides of his eyes.

 

Constance blushed instantly but drew herself up, lifting her chin in a way that emulated her patroness. She appeared to be a quick study: another fact Elijah liked about her.

 

“It’s more than some could hope for,” she pointed out, settling her hands in her lap so her knuckles were consumed by the fabric. She didn’t seem overjoyed, and he couldn’t blame her. Although she was right, and arranged marriage would help her (and other young women like her) to rise in station, it wasn’t love. Didn’t bright young women like her want love? Or perhaps they had been trained from such a young age to value wealth and comfort that love no longer mattered. Secretly, that was a thought which hurt his heart, that the world would become such a dismal place so that the relationship between a man and his wife would become purely perfunctory. It was an idea he didn’t relish. 

 

Watching her as she kept her eyes trained away from him and across the garden, Elijah twisted at his waist and effortlessly plucked a rose from the bush growing within arm’s reach of the bench. Spinning it between his forefinger and thumb, he brought it around and held it in front of her, catching her attention and bringing it back to him. Surprise dawned across her face and her eyebrows rose as she looked from the flower over at him. When he didn’t pull it back, but instead held it closer to her and gave her a smile, she politely accepted it, careful not to prick herself on the thorns.

 

“I do hope you will be happy, Constance,” he admitted sincerely. “It has become my responsibility to insure that your life is a good one, and I promise I will do my best.”

 

Her eyes grew wide with inexplicable emotion as she rested the rose and her hands in her lap, and he could hear the pleasant flutter to her heart as she focused on him. She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to thank him, but before she could utter a word, their peace was ruptured as a storm of golden fabric and hair materialized on the path. 

 

Blinking in surprise as his sister came into view, Elijah sat back, a look of consternation riddling his face as Rebekah stopped suddenly as if just noticing she was not alone. Anger marred her face and she looked like she’d been crying, or was ready to, and he rose from his seat in an instant to see to her. 

 

However, before he could get close, she pulled in a sharp, practiced breath and held up her hand to stop him. Dropping her skirts, she composed herself as best she could, not wanting Constance to see her in this state. She was quite clearly upset, and she was embarrassed that she hadn’t remained completely alone as she stormed out of the castle to the seclusion of the gardens. 

 

“Rebekah…” he began, but she plastered a fake smile on her face, her blue eyes glassy as she looked past him at Constance. 

 

“I have heard of your engagement. Congratulations to you both,” she remarked sunnily, straightening her arms like rods around her back. Clasping her fingers through each other, she thrust her chest outward and turned and overly bright look on her eldest brother, giving him a smile that was far more threatening than pleasant.

 

Elijah’s gaze darkened since he could easily recognize she was upset and covering it up. They held a silent glaring match for a moment, Rebekah’s false smile looking painted across her face as he frowned at her. 

 

“Thank you.” Constance’s pleasant voice sounded out of place in the sibling tension, but it diffused Elijah’s mounting frustration instantly. Remembering himself and his manners, he took a step back and pulled in a breath. Rebekah didn’t move, but she cast her strained smile toward her fellow lady-in-waiting. Constance, although human, seemed far more perceptive than Elijah had initially given her credit for, and she kept a polite, calming smile on her face even as Rebekah, who was far more severe both in looks and personality, struggled to remain pleasant.

 

Blinking, momentarily taken aback by Constance’s stolid resilience to her frothing anger, Rebekah’s lips parted as she feigned a breath. “ _Excusez moi_ ,” she remarked, her voice nearly shaking as she tried to contain herself. 

 

With that, she hustled away, gathering her dress in her hands as she struggled not to move faster than any normal human could. Elijah watched as she moved away, disappearing deeper into the gardens, before he sighed and returned to his seat beside Constance. 

 

“I’m--”

 

“There’s no need to apologize,” she spoke up before he could, giving him a slight smile as he turned a bewildered look on her, wondering how she’d guessed. “I have sisters, all younger than me. We ladies have a way about us, do we not?” She smiled brighter then, making him smile in response.

 

“You are bewildering and enchanting creatures,” he answered, smiling genuinely as he relaxed onto the stone bench. 

 

She lifted her chin proudly, squaring her shoulders in a cute way which kept his smile on his lips. “The idea is to be mysterious, no?” she asked. She was beginning to relax around him, and they were developing a repertoire that he was enjoying. 

 

“Is it?” he asked, cocking his head slightly.

 

“I like to think so,” she continued, pursing her lips as she spun the rose in her lap. “If gentlemen could guess each of our thoughts, there wouldn’t be much fun to life, would there?”

 

“Certainly not,” he answered easily, his interest in her growing as she fell into her real self. Now that it was only the two of them and they could talk this way, she was showing him more of who she actually was. He was glad for it.

 

However, before either of them could say another word, they were interrupted yet again as a second blur of motion appeared from the direction of the castle. 

 

“Lijah!” Kol cried out, dramatically sweeping into view, throwing his musketeer cloak out with one hand and doing a half-turn so it flailed out around his shoulders. Elijah rolled his eyes before he could stop himself, and he could practically hear it as Constance raised her eyebrows in surprise and amusement. There were times when Kol was far more dramatic than any of them.

 

“Kol…” He spoke his brother’s name evenly, his displeasure at being interrupted showing in his eyes as he huffed a quiet breath through his nose. 

 

The moment Kol weaved forward drunkenly, he noticed the glazed look in his younger brother’s eyes and the red accent at the corner of his mouth. Rising instantly from his seat, the elder brother protectively stepped forward as Kol’s gaze flickered toward his human companion.

 

“You’ve been drinking,” Elijah accused in a low voice, his eyes sparking with unspoken meaning. Kol laughed wickedly, his teeth gleaming.

 

“How right you are, brother,” he answered, noticing Constance past his older brother’s shoulder. His insatiable thirst flickered across his face.

 

“And I am not quite satisfied,” he noted in a low tone.

 

He moved in a flash, intent to step around and go for Constance’s throat, not caring that it was broad daylight.

 

Just as fast, Elijah stepped sideways, his left hand flattening against Kol’s chest, stopping him with enough force that Kol stumbled backwards a step. Elijah’s dark eyes simmered with annoyance. He hated this sort of behavior in public. It was inappropriate and gauche, and furthermore, it endangered their family’s safety among their human lessers.

 

“Mind your manners,” Elijah ordered him in a hard tone.

 

“Unable to share, ‘Lijah?” Kol asked, a sly smirk settling against the corner of his mouth.

 

“Remember your place - our place,” Elijah interjected firmly, having no patience for such behavior. 

 

Kol’s eyes flashed with a moment of hurt, but he was quick to cover it with another dark smile. Flourishing his light blue cloak out again with a kick of his hand, he rested his palm against the pommel of his sword. Lifting his other hand, he nonchalantly wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth with his glove.

 

“I am aware, dear brother,” he drawled, his tone bitter. Snorting sardonically, he reached out to shove Elijah against his chest. Due to his blood drunkenness, the shove didn’t move his older brother an inch, and he stalked angrily away. 

 

Elijah remained standing stiffly for a long moment, embarrassed by his brother’s behavior, and formulating a formal apology to his wife-to-be. Slowly, he turned to face Constance where she still sat on the stone bench. As he opened his mouth, but before he could formulate his comment, Constance was on her feet. Her dress rustled audibly with her movement, catching his attention. She gave him a sweet smile and shook her head to silence him before he could speak.

 

“It seems you could benefit from an escape,” she pointed out, bringing a curious look to his face. 

 

“Come with me? I know something that you may enjoy.”

 

With that, she slipped her arm through his elbow and applied gentle pressure, directing him toward the palace.


	26. Chapter 26

“Where are we headed, milady?”

 

“Just around this corner, and you shall see.”

 

Constance released his elbow and stepped around the corner of the hallway to a closed set of doors. Reaching out, bending slightly at the waist to grab them, she seized the gilded handles and pulled the doors open simultaneously.

 

Inside was a sizable room filled with an assortment of various trinkets and antiques. Impressed, Elijah stepped reverently into the room, casting his eyes over the miscellany inside. 

 

There were muskets, long unused and no longer viable in combat, along one wall. Spears and swords and shields, also unused but well cared for, hung along another wall. Within the room itself, there lay a variety of pedestals of varying heights and widths supporting a wide hodgepodge of royal historical items. Ancient crowns, hewn out of crude metals, set on pillows beneath glass covers. Intriguing to him also were the stacks of scrolls near the walls. Books, ancient in binding but meticulously cared for, were stacked on shelves along another wall. Their spines marked royal archives dating back centuries, and Elijah’s chest heaved with amazement and interest. 

 

The room was a priceless conglomeration of royal artifacts, holding a rich and valuable history unlike any he’d seen in his five centuries of life. 

 

Turning to Constance, he smiled genuinely, his dark eyes shining in a way she hadn’t yet seen. “The Royal Archive Room. I thought you may like it,” she noted with a pleasant smile.

 

He released an appreciative breath. “I do. This is magnificent. Thank you.”

 

She nodded, pleased that she had accomplished her goal. Taking a cautious step toward him, drawing his attention as she grew closer, she took a breath.

 

“You don’t have to apologize about your family, Elijah.” She spoke his name with a touch of reverence, appreciating the rare chance to use a gentleman’s first name in conversation. “We shall be married. Your family will be mine, and I don’t wish for you to spend the rest of our lives excusing yourself because of them.

 

“I can handle more than I may look like I can,” she noted with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. 

 

Elijah looked her in the eye, listening to the steady beating of her heart. There was the slightest flutter of nervousness in her heart - he assumed because she was being more forward with a man than she had ever been trained to be - but he knew she was being sincere. He wished the same thing for her, but he was simultaneously filled with a latent sorrow. Part of him wished she knew exactly how much she would have to handle as his wife. Another part of him hoped in vain that she would never find out. He was characteristically a pragmatic man, and he knew it wasn’t likely that her life as his wife would ever ben normal. Her very humanity hung on the line just because of her betrothal to him. Her life would hang in the balance more often than not. For now, his siblings seemed content to leave her be, but they were a mercurial lot. Kol’s behavior in the garden was a testament to that.

 

The twitch of a smile caught the corner of his mouth and he reached forward to take her hand. Lifting her knuckles to his lips, he kissed the back of her hand before covering it with his fingers.

 

“I will do as you wish, milady,” he assured her. His word was his bond, and he would try for her benefit more than she would ever know.

 

Spontaneously, perhaps brazenly for a woman of her status and age, Constance leaned forward and gently touched her lips to his cheek. With their engagement only just announced today, the simple act served to surprise him. She gave him a small smile before she politely stepped back and gave him a slight nod which made her maroon curls roll around the sides of her neck and back over her shoulders again. 

  
Elijah recovered quickly from his surprise. “I do believe it will be  _ dejeuner  _ soon. Shall we?” He released her hand and held his elbow out to her so they could be on their way.


	27. Chapter 27

The swishing of her skirt didn’t sound violent enough in her head. She wanted the fabric to sound as angry as she felt. She wanted the world to know how furious she was. She didn’t care if it was inappropriate for a lady to show her emotions so openly. Her patience was at an all-time low, as was her participation in customs and propriety. 

 

She was feeling particularly murderous as well.

 

Growling audibly to herself, Rebekah stormed through the palace gardens, intent on being alone to let off her aggression. She was in disbelief that Klaus would take a prank so poorly. She knew he couldn’t take a joke, but she was out of her mind with anger over the fact that he would take his revenge so far. 

 

“Rebekah!”

 

Distracted by her ire, the sound of her name was like a pickaxe striking her spine. Wheeling around just as she reached the treeline at the edge of the palace grounds, forgetting to hide her vampirism because of her irritation, she darted forward in a blur. In the blink of an eye, her fingers were around the man’s neck.

 

“Lady Rebekah!” he gulped, “It’s me: Aramis.”

 

With a disgruntled gasp, she came back to her senses a moment before lifting him entirely off his feet and strangling him. Snatching her hand back, momentarily embarrassed, she gathered her wits.

 

“I apologize for surprising you,” Aramis commented, straightening his shirt and tunic as he gave her an apologetic smile. Even through her frustration and anger, she was struck once more by how naturally attractive he was.

 

In her current mood, the observation annoyed her.

 

“It’s no matter, she snapped irritably, shaking her head as she moved to step past him. Simultaneously, he stepped to the side to detain her, making her huff a breath before glaring at him.

 

“Why is it that you insist upon following me around, musketeer?” she asked him suddenly.

 

He appeared only fleetingly taken back by her question before he offered her another, easy, comforting smile. She wasn’t in the mood to be comforted.

 

“I’m not following you around, mademoiselle. You appeared upset, so I…” He trailed off and released a breath then gave her a sheepish expression before grinning, “... I did follow you, but only this time.”

 

Rebekah snorted derisively, shook her head, which sent her perfectly coiffed curls rolling around her shoulders, and turned another glare on him. She wasn’t in the mood to play flirty games with him right now. Klaus’s threat echoed around in her head, and she felt angry and paranoid as a result.

 

“Your appearances seem strangely well-timed and convenient,” she pointed out. Drawing herself up, she advanced toward him. Surprisingly, he didn’t shrink away, and he didn’t seem scared of her. This simultaneously impressed and annoyed her thanks to her current mood.

 

So she took another confrontational step forward.

 

“How is it that you are perennially in precisely the right place at the right time, Aramis?”

 

She took note of the fact that his heart rate had accelerated, but not in fear. Fear would be tangible in the air for her - it had an acrid, bitter smell she’d never liked - but she didn’t smell it now. Instead, she smelled the gentle wafting flavor of male pheromones, and this surprised her. Perhaps he had no healthy sense of when to be afraid.

 

Over the years since the near decimation of her family due to her own shortsightedness and Alexander’s subsequent death, she’d not quite found her place again. She certainly hadn’t opened her heart up the same way again since. Part of her wished she was as terrifying as her brothers, especially when she was in a foul mood. Deep down, she knew she very well could be, but she was also relieved that she wasn’t. She didn’t wish to lose herself entirely to beastliness like Kol or to propriety like Elijah. 

 

“Is it so bad for a man to be drawn to a beautiful lady such as yourself?” Aramis asked her, breaking into her thoughts.

 

It was the skip in his heartbeat which drew her attention first, and she looked up at him in surprise. 

 

“That is quite forward, musketeer,” she pointed out. Not that she cared. On the contrary, she didn’t care. Although she hated to admit it in her current mood, her cheeks would have flushed if they had the ability to do so.

 

“I know it is, milady,” he confessed, releasing a sharp, aggrieved breath. She could see the dismay on him now, as his cool, charming exterior momentarily faltered. His brown eyes pleaded with her as he met her gaze again.

 

“I know my station is far below yours - I am just a soldier in our Majesty’s service - and surely, your brother would rather a highborn match for you. It’s why I have not stated my hand before now.” 

 

He really had no idea what her brother wanted - or didn’t want - for her. Her jaw set irritably as she was reminded of her brothers’ varying views on her personal life and of the king’s inappropriate attraction to her. 

 

Aramis continued eloquently. “But what choice does a blade of grass have but to turn itself toward the sun when she casts her life-giving light?”

 

If her heart could have skipped a beat, it certainly would have. Her cheeks would have flushed. Goosebumps would have peppered her skin. His words made her forget Klaus’s deadly threats for a breath of a second. No one had said anything so poetic to her, and affected her thusly, in centuries. 

 

Of course, she’d entertained suitors over the centuries, especially as the only maiden in a household of men. She’d never much cared for the Italians’ style of passion. It was too all-inclusive. The Germanic men weren’t passionate enough for her tastes, and the British men were far too polite to say something so forthright. 

 

As Aramis’ romantic overture made her feel things she hadn’t felt in centuries, she was struck by how much she preferred this French style of romance. 

 

Carefully, he stepped closer to her until the toes of his boots were swallowed by the layers of her dress skirt. Acting upon his courage, he reached out and took her gloved hands in his. Suddenly, having forgotten for the moment, she was reminded of Klaus’s admonition: if she so much as touched a man, he would murder him.

 

Her fingers curled into Aramis’s in silent rebellion against her brother’s proclamation.

 

“You are the most radiant beauty I have ever seen, Lady Rebekah.” He released a breath, and his thumb traced a path through the hills and valleys of her knuckles. “Anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve to look upon you.”

 

He brazenly reached up to rest his gloved hand on her cheek, his his leather-clad thumb softly caressing her skin. Taking a breath, her blue eyes fluttered closed and she reached reached up to wrap her fingers around the side of his hand. As she removed it, his countenance fell, but he didn’t otherwise argue. He didn’t force her to endure his touch, or attempt to enact some sovereign right to her body that other men believed they had simply because they were men and she a woman. Instead, however disappointed he clearly was but her presumed dismissal of his touch, he remained silent as she pulled his hand away and balanced it in her own.

 

Deftly, one by one, as each of Klaus’s words echoed in her mind, she tugged the glove free of the tips of his fingers. When it was loose, she pulled the glove from the center finger, slipping it off of his hand entirely. Once she was done, she made work of her own glove, revealing her alabaster skin to him in the waning sunlight. 

 

Holding his hand in hers, she curiously traced her fingers through the center of his palm. She noticed how calloused his skin was compared to hers. She imagined she could identify where every callous originated, from the friction of his glove against his skin as he wielded a sword or cocked his gun. 

 

Taking control of his wrist, she brought his hand back up to her cheek. Looking him directly in the eye, she released his wrist and watched as he reverently and softly began caressing her face. His heart rate elevated quickly, pleasing her as she heard it. His breath came quicker as he spread his fingers and took her cheek entirely in his hand.

 

“Rebekah…” he murmured her name fervently.

 

She reached out and placed her bare fingers on his mouth, silencing him.  Stepping forward, she spontaneously kissed him, having secretly wondered for some time what it would be like to kiss him. She didn’t explain herself or give excuses for why she was doing this. She didn’t explain that her brother’s threats had settled into her bones as a threat, or that she finally wanted to do something for herself. 

 

For a moment, he respectfully allowed her to lead the kiss, somehow knowing that she needed the moment of control. She required it to heal herself from the bitter anger Nik had infused into her chest with his ultimatum. As she relaxed, Aramis reacted instantly, slipping his hand around into her golden curls and taking hold. He kissed her harder then, and she willingly accepted it. Not once did he treat her as if she were made of glass, and it energized her.

 

Dropping their gloves to the ground, she seized the lapels of his tunic in her hands as he bent at the knees to grab her beneath her thighs. In spite of the sheer amount of fabric encumbering her legs, he grasped her with relative ease and turned, carrying her fully into the sanctuary of the treeline, leaving their discarded gloves forgotten on the ground behind.

  
  
  


Rebekah released a hard breath as she landed on her back on the ground, her blond curls spilling around her head in the ground cover. Aramis’s lips covered hers, moving from her mouth down the curve of her jaw to her neck. Moaning softly in appreciation as he sucked on the bare skin on her shoulder where it met her neck, her back arched as his warm hands plunged beneath her skirt and contacted her legs. 

 

He traced the length of her legs as she hastily reached for his tunic. Impatiently she tore at it, belying her own strength as the ties snapped effortlessly beneath the power of her fingers. Releasing an appreciative breath at the sight of his bare chest, she spread her fingers across his skin - her second glove dropped to the ground somewhere nearby so her hands were free to feel skin against skin - and marveled in relief at how wonderful he felt to the touch. She could literally feel his life flowing beneath her fingertips. 

 

Suddenly, he sat her up, reaching around to loosen her corset as his lips smothered hers again. Sloppily, he tore at the ties, not bothering to completely undo them in his impatience. Hooking his fingers between her chest and the bodice, he tore it downward, revealing her breasts to him in an instant. 

 

Gasping in delight, she momentarily lost her grip on him, leaving an opening for him to bend forward and sink his mouth over her left breast. She gasped again, her back arching naturally and enabling him to pull the fabric down to her waist. Thoroughly distracted by his mouth on her, she shifted her hips and slipped out of the suffocating layers of fabric without a thought. Hungrily, her fingers grappled with his clothes, tearing them from his body and tossing them, forgotten, to the forest floor. 

 

He settled against her finally, their skin touching, his vitality covering her. She didn’t remember the last time she’d felt so alive. The hardness of his erection rested against the inside of her leg, and her knees rose along his sides invitingly as he continued smothering her with kisses. His body was so soft and human as compared to hers, all marble and indestructibility. Raking her fingers down his sides, careful not to tear his flesh although she was nearly incapable of controlling her strength, she absorbed every sensory feature about him.

 

She said nothing but lithely twisted, grabbing his butt in her hands and pulling him down into her. She released a shaking breath of relief as he sank down and simultaneously gasped in appreciation. As they connected, and he rested his forehead against her shoulder to gather his wits, Rebekah felt the burning around her eyes. Her vision went red for a moment, and her senses went on high alert as the veins around her eyes shimmered and propagated themselves in reaction to her passion. Her vampiric bloodlust was nearly indeterminable from sexual lust at this stage, and she fought herself for a moment as her fangs threatened to pierce out of her mouth.

 

Aramis shifted on top of her, moving to kiss her lips, but she easily detained him. He wouldn’t know the truth about her, not yet.

  
Turning her head, she encouraged him to kiss her neck again, and he did so without question or hesitation. His hips shifted forward, filling her with a thrust, before he shifted back and then repeated the motion. Losing herself to him, only reining herself in so as not to tear his fragile, mortal body apart in the throes of passion, Rebekah gave into a part of herself she hadn’t humored in decades. 


	28. Chapter 28

Straightening the lapels of his coat, Elijah stepped from his chamber into the main living area of the ornate beehive of rooms which made up the Mikaelson family suite. 

 

“Have you seen Rebekah?” His eyebrows drew together as he finished fixing his coat and cast a look across the room at his younger brother.

 

Klaus reclined on the far couch, closest to the empty fireplace, with one long leg draped over the armrest and his head resting comfortably against a pillow. A drawing pad laid on his lap and his hand, the least relaxed thing about him, moved in a blur as he sketched details into the drawing of a maiden. Her back was turned so only her monochrome dress and curls were visible. Hooked in the crook of her elbow was a basket filled with flowers, the details of which Klaus was finishing. He paused for a moment to look up with a smirk on his face as Elijah stopped in the room.

 

“She’s probably moping somewhere,” he noted with a dark smile. “Or even better: disemboweling some hapless servant girl in anger.” His eyes glinted as he tweaked his eyebrows. Elijah didn’t encourage his behavior.

 

“She did seem quite upset when I saw her earlier. You wouldn’t happen to know why… would you?” he asked, raising his chin slightly as he scrutinized his brother with a gaze that missed no details.

 

“Of course I would,” Klaus answered, as if mildly offended for his part in their sister’s upset being overlooked. He shifted his position, sliding his sketchpad to one thigh and stretching his arm out across the back of the couch. Crossing one foot over to rest atop the opposite knee, he smirked again.

 

“Our sister cheated in a fair fight,” he stated succinctly, clearly not caring how very childish the competition had been in the first place, “So I changed the rules a bit.” He pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders mildly, “She’s probably upset about it.”

 

Elijah sighed audibly and fixed his younger brother with another look. “How exactly did you change these rules?” he asked, knowing before hearing the answer that it was surely something insipid and ridiculous. His siblings had the most unfortunate habit of creating silly contests and getting upset with each other. Oftentimes, it was like living with a pack of rabid children.

 

Klaus pursed his lips again and shrugged his head to the side. “She is not to so much as touch a man, or I shall remove his life from his limbs.”

 

Elijah reacted instantly, dropping his head to the side and heaving a loud sigh, but Klaus continued unabated. “It’s only fair, considering--”

 

“--That she somehow prevented you an easy win to your childish contest?”

 

Klaus gave him a momentary glare. The quill in his right hand started rocking back and forth in a blur as he unconsciously seesawed it between his fingers, droplets of ink flinging from the tip of it whenever it reached the apex and the base of its back and forth motion.

 

“I’m doing my part to protect her, brother. Our sister doesn’t see men for what they are. You know as well as I that she hasn’t been the same since--”

 

“You brutally slaughtered her fiancé and everyone in his household?” Elijah smoothly interjected again. Klaus’s eyes flared with open disgust at the mere mention of Alexander, and he rose swiftly to his feet, abandoning his drawing pad on the couch.

 

“If it hadn’t been for my immunity to the dagger, Rebekah’s hormone-driven mistake would have decimated our family. What I did, however brutal, saved your life as well, dear brother. Or have you so easily forgotten?”

 

“Certainly I haven’t. For how could I when you don’t allow a one of us to do so?” Elijah countered calmly. Remaining as collected as always, he squared his shoulders toward his brother and lifted a hand to gesture across the space toward him.

 

“I do hope you won’t still be using this story against our sister for yet another 500 years,” he stated before dropping his hand back to his side. “I wonder when you will allow Rebekah to move past it, to outlive her mistake as she has allowed you to outlive your many.”

 

Klaus opened his mouth to retaliate but was interrupted by a distant scream which made both brothers freeze. With their enhanced hearing, they could hear the commotion a few wings over in the palace as if it were merely muffled through a wall. Their argument forgotten, they turned in unison toward the door as Kol suddenly burst into the suite. His eyes were gleaming with excitement and his clothes were in disarray. He’d clearly been running.

  
“Come quickly. Our wolf has been at it again.”


	29. Chapter 29

An hour later, Rebekah lay beside Aramis with her head rested on his chest so she could hear the thrumming of his heartbeat as she traced her pale fingers down the length of his belly to his hips. She drew down to the line etched in his skin where his pants usually rested and then back up again, making a quick circle around his belly button before climbing toward his chest. Lifting her head, she smiled slightly to herself as she caught his smile out of the corner of her eye. Goosebumps erupted across the surface of his skin although the weather was warm, and she smiled in satisfaction. His eyes were closed as he breathed steadily, and she was free to trace up the center of his ribcage all the way to his throat.

Grasping his chin, she pushed his head to the side and sank her lips against his neck, making him release a short huff of a sigh. "Rebekah…" he breathed, stirring desire up within her again. Gently, he reached for her wrist, but even if he'd tried, he wouldn't have been strong enough to remove her grip. Kissing his neck, allowing him to hold onto her wrist (more for support now than out of any real attempt to stop her), she paused for a moment and breathed him in. She could smell the sweet aroma of his blood running through his veins just beneath the surface of his skin, and it intoxicated her.

Often, her lusts were so intermingled that she couldn't separate the two. She'd almost lost control before, in the throes of sexual passion, and now, her stomach stirred in a different way. He'd satisfied her lust for flesh, but her lust for blood was still quite strong (as it always was after she had sex). It overcame her as she stared at the pulsing on the side of his throat, and she felt the burning around her eyes that accompanied her hunger.

"Rebekah…?" Aramis repeated her name in a questioning tone now, wondering why she'd stopped. Turning his head to the side, he caught sight of her and sucked in a chestful of air.

In a flash, she moved, her animalistic side taking over as she pinned him to the ground. She was still entirely naked, but modesty didn't matter as her vampire side took complete control. Her eyes burned red and her fangs elongated in her mouth, saliva coating her tongue as the thought of his blood filled her mind. For centuries, she'd had numerous suitors, and it always ended this way: the sexual lust sated led to the brutal murder of a handsome young courtier in the woods.

Her hands pinned his shoulders to the ground, her hair falling over her chest toward him. It all happened in little more than the blink of an eye, and she was ready to go in for the kill.

"Rebekah, please."

The calmness in Aramis's voice brought her pause, shaking her momentarily out of her blood rampage. Still tightly gripping his shoulders, she could feel the warmth of blood begin to seep out around her fingertips from the severe amount of pressure she was applying, but she was still too lost to let go although she knew she was hurting him.

He reached up and wrapped his warm fingers around her wrists, not trying to remove her but succeeding in capturing her attention. His heart beat steadily, albeit quickly, and it was all so confusing to her. He should be terrified. He should be fighting her off. He should be pleading for his life, but he did none of those things.

The confusion was obvious on her face as her eyes cleared and she focused on him. Suddenly, she realized what he'd just seen. She'd shown him the side of herself that she and her family kept hidden to the world. He knew she was a vampire, a creature of myth and legend.

Heaving a breath as the realization hit her, she remained seated on top of him and hastily debated what to do. The most obvious solution was to compel him and wipe his memory, but something else plagued her. Her curiosity remained as her features hardened. Releasing his shoulders, she grasped his throat in a blur of movement. Her eyes went cold as she focused on him.

"Why aren't you afraid?" she asked bluntly, holding him to the ground easily with just one hand. She could feel it as he swallowed beneath her grasp, but he was smart enough not to try to get away, or else he didn't want to. She had no idea what was going on or why he didn't seem the least bit surprised that the woman he'd just slept with was a bloodthirsty monster quite capable of killing him.

"It helps that you're still entirely disrobed - and quite beautiful might I add," he remarked. Not caring for his characteristic joviality right now, she tightened her grip, causing him to cough and hold up his hands in surrender.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't drain you dry right this instant? Do you have any idea what I am, musketeer?"

Aramis sighed, his chest rising and falling between her thighs as she remained kneeling over him. "There have been rumors around the palace… I'd thought they were only silly stories. Creatures with fangs, strong enough to fell a man with ease… I didn't think such a thing could be true," he admitted.

She could judge by the tempo of his heart that he was telling the truth, but her own loss of control and grave mistake in showing him what she was struck up a guilty opera within her. Elijah would have her head if he found out about this. Frowning skeptically, her blue eyes sharpened with anger.

"So you've been spying on me, looking for the right opportunity to strike: to use me as a weapon against my family?"

There was so much raw pain in her accusation that it was breathtaking. Even as her anger, hurt, and guilt combined, making the resulting blood lust show around her eyes again, she was assaulted by images of Alexander. She was struck by the similarities to that situation, how she'd even been straddling him intimately the way she currently was with Aramis a moment before he'd plunged a dagger through her heart. She knew she'd been foolish to allow herself to be drawn to someone again. It always ended badly. She should know better by now.

"Rebekah… no." Aramis's voice remained calm even now, and he even sounded a bit offended at her accusation. She was feeling betrayed and used and taken advantage of, but his tone was oddly soothing to her through her rampaging emotions.

Suddenly, but gently, his hand cupped her face, taking her entirely by surprise. His thumb brushed across her cheek, just beneath her eye and across the dancing veins that were the premiere sign of her vampire nature. She'd never been touched in such a way before, or had such intimate attention brought to the monstrous side of her that only her brothers and their sirelings knew about, especially when she was so close to a bloodlust-induced attack. She could hear his heart rate accelerate excitedly now; it still didn't sound afraid. He was determined not to flee. Unintentionally, she marveled at him as he bravely captured and held her gaze.

"I haven't been following you or spying on you. We truly seem to be conveniently thrown together by fate - convenient to my benefit, anyway," he pointed out softly, still caressing her cheek with his thumb. His touch was warm and surprisingly comforting to her through her undulating confusion.

"I've always known you were as powerful as you were beautiful. I merely underestimated how much." His heart skipped an excited beat then, slowly thawing through her skepticism and the ragged pain of her past mistakes.

"How could you possibly be unafraid? The stories you heard are true: my brothers and I are every terrible thing you've heard, and more. It would take me but a moment to snap your neck and end your life."

Pushing himself up off the ground with his elbows, he wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her tightly against his chest as he dropped his other hand from her face to the base of her neck, trapping one of her golden curls beneath his fingers.

"I have no doubt you could, but you haven't. I trust you, and I don't think you will, ma petite belle," he murmured, lifting his chin so his face was mere inches from hers again. Emotions welled up within her, rendering barriers she'd had up for decades impotent.

"You enchant me, Rebekah; you still do." He pulled her face closer and kissed her sweetly, entreatingly.

Dumbfounded by him, but convinced of the truth behind his words since she'd been listening avidly to his heartbeat the entire time he spoke, she was rendered breathless by his confession and his kiss. It had been so long since she'd met a man she felt she could trust or truly open her heart to. Even if she had, Klaus would have killed him.

However, she felt a sudden switch flip within her as if a part of her humanity had been turned off until this moment. As the transition happened, she kissed him back, letting herself go in an entirely different way. She let her heart relax for the first time in years and reached up to grasp his face in her hands as she passionately kissed him.

They lingered for a long moment, their lips parting slowly only so Aramis could catch his breath. Nudging her nose with his, he ran his hand down her back, feeling the supernatural strength hidden in her feminine, deceptively delicate body. Appreciating her now in an entirely different way than before, she slipped his arm between them, lightly grazing his fingertips between her breasts and up her chest bone until he reached her chin. Gently, he outlined her chin before tracing his thumb over her lips.

"Do you… eat… humans?" he asked innocently, curiosity in his brown eyes.

Rebekah laughed immediately before reaching up to run her fingers into his dark hair. "I drink blood. I don't eat anyone," she clarified with an amused smile.

"Was that…" he shifted his hand, brushing his thumb beside her eye again, "...why your eyes looked like that? You were thirsty?" He was genuinely intrigued and it showed in his eyes. Rebekah opened her mouth slightly, debating how best to answer him. All the while, his hands absently caressed her. Not once had he withdrawn from her since learning the truth, nor had he been commanding or rough, and it bolstered her.

"In a way, yes," she admitted. "Lust and gluttony can be so delicately intertwined."

As she smiled with a hint of bashfulness, Aramis's almond-colored eyes lit up and he grinned his contagious grin. He dropped his hands and wrapped both of his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him again suddenly, making her giggle lightly in surprise.

"So, if we were to do that again…" He trailed off, his eyebrows raising as he pursed his lips. "You would need to drink?" His smile made his eyes dance with mischief.

"We call it feeding, but, to answer your question…" She brushed his hair back from his face and held his face in her hands. "Yes, it's quite likely."

His smile softened, and he reached up to wrap his fingers around her wrists.

"Do you still need to feed now?" he asked her softly, massaging the insides of her wrists with his thumbs.

Rebekah's eyes widened slightly, and she readjusted her grasp so her thumbs rested on his tanned cheeks. She honestly evaluated his question and realized she could still feel her thirst swirling in her belly. The distraction of the last several minutes had nearly made her forget about it. Her momentary pause allowed him the time to speak again.

"You could feed on me," he murmured.

She shook her head immediately, dropping her hands from his face to his shoulders.

"No, I can't- I wouldn't- I… could hurt you," she noted, brushing her hands over the bloody claw marks she'd left on his skin. Her heart flip flopped guiltily as she realized the damage she'd caused. He disguised it well on his face, and the blood had already dried, but she knew it must be painful.

"And what instead? Have you go feed on some other man after we've just been together?" He gave her a playfully reproachful look. "The jealousy would consume me."

He gave her another grin which relaxed her only slightly.

"Aramis, I can't…" she whispered, her eyebrows drawing together as she shook her head again. He reached up and cupped her face in his hands, recapturing her attention as he shushed her.

"I want you to, ma belle. I know now what you are; I'm not afraid. Do what you need, Rebekah." His sincerity struck her deeply, making her heart feel full again.

He tilted his head to the side and released a heavy breath, inviting her as he watched her expectantly. Dropping his hands to her waist, he braced himself. She hesitated, but even as she did, her throat burned with the desire to feed.

Leaning forward, she hesitated a moment longer, panting against his skin as she got a hold on herself. Parting her lips, she slowly sank her fangs into the veins in his neck. He gasped, clinging to her hips as she began to feed on him. Fighting to keep her wits, she feasted while keeping herself in check. She was one of the first vampires, the first in her family to be turned by their father. She knew how long she could feed on a grown man before bleeding him dry, and she certainly didn't want to do that in this case.

After the initial sting of her fangs sinking into his neck, the venom worked its magic, soothing the bite and turning it euphoric for him so he relaxed beneath her. His arms encircled her waist and he breathed her name. His blood had a woodsy, masculine flavor to it that she enjoyed thoroughly. Her nipples hardened against his chest and her nostrils flared as she got her fill of him. He tasted glorious, especially with the cocktail of chemicals in his blood following their tryst.

Careful not to overfeed, Rebekah held herself back by closing her eyes and focusing as she retracted her fangs. Aramis panted heavily as she withdrew, his lips softly kissing the inside of her shoulder as he held her with his arms still around her waist. Gently, she licked the bite mark with her tongue, lapping up the excess blood before licking her lips. As she sat up, she said nothing for a moment, allowing them both the chance to bask in the euphoria following the feed. The experience was as satisfying as the sex they'd shared, albeit in a different way. She knew the venom in her bite stung initially, but became an opiate once the initial prick of pain faded. Simultaneously, feeding for a vampire was as satisfying as any good meal would be, involving the added benefit of the physical intimacy with a living meal.

Feeling high from a combination of desires, Rebekah lifted her wrist to her mouth and broke her skin with her fangs. Offering it to him, she touched him encouragingly beneath his chin and gave him a nod.

"Drink. It will mend your wounds," she reassured him as he gave her a questioning look.

Slowly, Aramis pressed his lips against her wrist and began to drink. He was trepidatious for a few moments before his fingers wrapped around her arm and began drinking more deeply. For a human, drinking a vampire's blood was a literal and figuratively intoxicating experience. It was like ambrosia for the human body. Easily, he could get carried away.

Judging when he'd imbibed enough to heal him, Rebekah stopped him before he could get out of control. Withdrawing her arm, she reached over to wipe her thumb across his lips, cleaning his mouth. He gave her an intrepid smile.

"You taste as magical as you feel, milady," he informed her playfully.

Rebekah returned his smile, pacified now that the claw marks on his shoulders were closing up. "As do you, musketeer," she answered, leaning forward to surprise him with a kiss.

Grabbing her in his arms, he fell onto his back, making her giggle as he carried them both to the grass, then proceeded to kiss her until her delighted laughter filled the trees.


	30. Chapter 30

Striding powerfully through the corridors together, the three brothers rounded the corner in a line and came face-to-face with a crowd of people shuffling about in various shades of confusion, fear, and dismay.

 

“The king! He’s been attacked!” shrieked a partially-dressed handmaiden clutching her untied dress over her chest as she threw open the chamber doors and fled the bedroom. By the disarray of her hair and her state of undress, Elijah quickly inferred her connection to the king. 

 

A fearful lord stumbled from one side of the doorway to the other, and Klaus sneered as the man teetered toward him. Shoving his shoulder, Klaus reclaimed his personal space, sending the man stumbling dramatically toward his fellow upper class against the wall. The hallway undulated with chaos as people gasped and tittered in response to the girl’s wild appearance, agitating Elijah’s nerves and fraying his patience. Musketeers and courtiers clogged the passageway. Handmaidens huddled in horror at both ends of the hallway. Within the king’s chamber was the cacophonous shrieking of pain and fear coming from the king himself. Elijah could smell fresh blood and pheromones and, beneath it all, the dank musk of a werewolf. 

 

His lips curled in distaste and his skin crawled as the disorder of the scene further ruffled him. It was sensory overload. 

 

In a flash, he moved. He moved so quickly and precisely that even Klaus and Kol barely had a moment to comprehend what he was doing. Individually, he darted around the room, compelling every person gathered. In a firm, soothing voice, he ordered them to calm down and to give him their undivided attention. He was so quick that, years later, his two younger brothers would still debate if he’d compelled them each one by one or miraculously compelled the entire group at once.

 

In the blink of an eye, the mewling fearful crowd was silenced, their attention riveted onto the oldest Mikaelson. The hallway was now in discordance to the soliloquy of the king’s audible pain in the room beyond and eery by comparison. The tension in Elijah’s shoulders suddenly disappeared, and he sighed in relief. 

 

“Much better,” he noted, casting a strained but genteel smile across his compelled audience. He did so dislike such controlling gestures, but he disliked chaos far more.

 

Stepping forward, ignoring Kol mischievously waving a hand in front of a nearby courtier’s face to see if he could break the man’s concentration, Elijah headed toward the partially disrobed handmaiden first. Reaching out, he gently pulled her dress back onto her shoulders as he began speaking.

 

“My brothers and I would appreciate if, in spite of your fear, you could all take a collective breath and speak calmly to explain the situation.”

 

Whether it was his literal intention or not, the entire group followed his wish immediately. A simultaneous inhalation of breath spread through the humans, followed by a perfect exhale as if it had been choreographed. The handmaiden in front of him did the same, her shoulders shifting slightly with her breath as Elijah stepped around behind her and pulled the ties of her bodice together across her shoulder blades. Deftly, without further disgracing her honor (whatever may remain of it after being labeled as one of the king’s whores), he laced up her dress without one look at her bare back or brushing her bare skin with his fingers.

 

“Would someone be so kind as to inform me of what happened?”

 

There was a momentary silence, filled only with the king’s pained groaning beyond, before one brightly-dressed lord shifted his weight and politely cleared his throat. It was clear by the rustling of his wide-legged pants - a sound only the vampire brothers present could hear - that his knees were knocking together. However, in spite of his fear, Elijah’s compulsion was more powerful and kept him calm enough to speak.

 

“It was a  _ loup _ ,  _ monsieur _ ,” he stated, his voice shaking. “Entirely black and monstrous: the biggest wolf I’ve ever seen.”

 

“I see.” Elijah dropped his chin, glancing sidelong back at his younger brothers. Fear pheromones rolled off of the lord, offering an acrid smell to the Original vampires, but Elijah’s compulsion continued to hold him fast. He didn’t cry or whimper although he was clearly afraid. The only visible clue to his discomfiture was the trembling of his knees. 

 

As astounding as the blanket compulsion was, Klaus was not distracted by it. With the lord’s confirmation, Klaus’s attention was perked up immediately. Meeting his older brother’s look, Klaus’s features hardened imperceptibly and he suddenly strode forward through the crowd and directly into the king’s bedchamber. 

 

Leaving his brothers to sweep away the societal problem in the hallway (and to compel them all to forget the supernatural details of the circumstance), Klaus stalked purposefully across the room toward the bed. The king writhed in his own blood, still partially disrobed from his interrupted tryst and tangling the sheets around his bare feet. His shoulder still bled from the bite.

 

Thankful that he was spared a view of the king’s endowments (however embarrassingly lacking he assumed they were), he headed straight toward the physician standing at the bedside attempting to calm his master down so he could administer treatment.

 

“ _ Monsieur _ , you can’t be in here,” the man declared in a dull tone, standing as he heard Klaus’s footfalls in the room.  

 

The doctor turned to face him, intent on bodily stopping him from advancing further. Klaus, however, was instantly in his face, his pupils dilating as his power of compulsion kicked in. He spread his fingertips against the man’s chest and easily held him at bay.

 

“The only reason I don’t kill you is because I’m not much of a caretaker and have no desire to bandage the buffoon myself,” he pointed out in a low tone. Cocking his head slightly, he continued, “You will do as I say, and you will not attempt to oust me or my brothers from this room again. Now… quiet.”

 

The shutting of the man’s mouth made an audible pop, and Klaus inexorably pushed him back a step so the path to the bed was unimpeded. Louis’s eyes had gone wide, either from the delirium brought on by the werewolf venom or because he’d just seen the exchange between the lord and physician. Perhaps it was a mixture of both; Klaus didn’t care.

 

“Werewolf toxin… it really is such inelegant stuff,” Elijah noted as he and Kol entered the room, having successfully dismissed the witnesses. 

 

Klaus chose not to comment - derisive comments about werewolves having offended him since learning his own origins. Reaching out, he snatched the king’s chin roughly in his hand and looked into his beady eyes. As Louis opened his mouth to issue some sort of decree about touching the king, or perhaps to call for help, Klaus clenched his chin tighter and gritted his teeth.

 

“Shut up, Louis,” he stated succinctly. All that followed was a whimper from the man, and Klaus released his chin to unceremoniously shove his wild hair and shirt aside for a better view of the werewolf bite. It smelled bitter and festered in spite of its freshness, just like every werewolf bite he’d ever seen.

 

“He’s still alive… Will it turn him, Nik?” Kol asked with impish curiosity, lifting his eyebrows as he craned to see from where he was now reclining on one hip against the other side of the bed.

 

“Of course not,” Klaus commented flatly as if the question alone was a complete waste of his time. 

 

“I know, I know,” Kol drawled, rolling his eyes dramatically, “It’s all hereditary… blah blah.”  He huffed a sigh and pouted childishly, clearly upset there wasn’t going to be a werewolf transition in the middle of the king’s bedroom. 

 

Klaus chose to ignore his antics and gestured for the physician. He’d only just begun instructing the man how to treat the wound when a noisy entry from the hallway distracted them all. A commanding figure in a flurry of crimson robes swept in through the doorway, his eyes cutting and intense. His graying hair was close-cropped to his head, and his dark eyes were small in his mildly pinched face. His goatee was shaped like a point at the end of his chin, the image complimented by the meticulously pruned mustache on his upper lip. Not a particularly attractive man, he maintained a commanding presence. 

 

“What in God’s name are you lot doing in here?” His eyebrows rose, making his face look even more severe as he came to a halt. He cast a glance toward the king to assure he was alright, then looked back at the brothers as he folded his hands into his robe. 

 

“We hope to help His Majesty any way we can, bishop,” Elijah answered, having noticed the man was wearing the robes of a clergyman. He recognized the red garments that he’d seen on others around the palace.

 

“ _ Cardinal _ ,” he corrected immediately, in a biting tone. His eyes blazed as he focused on Elijah. “Cardinal Richelieu.”

 

Clearly, he was displeased by not receiving the amount of respect he deserved.

 

The moment he stated his name, Elijah recognized it immediately since, among the three brothers, he’d done the most research into the country’s most influential figures. Smoothly, he bowed slightly at his waist. Klaus and Kol did likewise following a momentary pause where Elijah shot them both a silent, threatening glare. 

 

“Your Eminence,” Elijah formally greeted the man. “I apologize. I misspoke.”

 

The cardinal withdrew his hands from the pocket on the front of his robe to dismissively wave his hand. “You’re forgiven, but that doesn’t answer my initial question,” he pointed out, his tone still stern.

 

“You don’t appear to be physicians… Why are you here?”  

 

He glanced toward the doorway as if just noticing how empty the hallway beyond was. “Who let you in here?” he asked suspiciously, turning an accusatory look toward the doctor.

 

Before the cardinal could berate the doctor, Elijah spoke up again. “We merely wish to offer our services, Your Holiness. We have some experience in these matters.”

 

“In animal attacks?” the Cardinal asked, his eyebrows raising as he scrutinized the three of them with a skeptical look in his eye. Sidestepping them, he went to the bedside and rested his hand on the king’s shoulder as he looked him over.

 

“You don’t seem like the huntsmen type,” he noted as he continued his examination of the king. Kol snorted amusedly where he leaned against the post at the end of the bed.

 

Elijah smiled benignly and spread his hands out in front of him before dropping them back to his waist. “Our father got us into hunting. We know quite a lot about this sort of thing.”

 

It was Klaus’s turn to snort before he stepped forward with a huff of impatience. “Cut the niceties, ‘Lijah. We don’t have time for this,” he growled. 

 

However, as he moved toward the bed, the Cardinal stopped him by rising to his full height to block his path. Klaus’s eyes darkened with irritation and his jaw twitched as the holy man faced him down.

 

“It would serve you well to retain your niceties,  _ Monsieur  _ Niklaus,” Richelieu countered, taking a confrontational step forward. His eyes glinted and his robes rustled audibly around his feet as he squared up with Klaus, whose rage was now simmering openly in his blue-green eyes.

 

“You should remember your place in this court,  _ Messieurs _ .” Richelieu smiled unpleasantly as he cast a dismissive glance among the brothers.

 

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,” he noted offhandedly, returning his attention to Klaus. “As guests here, you wouldn’t want Him to take the king’s favor from you… Would you?”

 

His tone was conversational, but his threat was clear. Klaus bristled, taking a step closer to him. A few inches taller than him, the Cardinal contemptuously watched him down his nose. The tension in the room thickened palpably as the two men glared each other down.

 

“You would be wise not to threaten my family and me,” Klaus noted, his tone dropping. His pupils dilated then constricted instantly, swirling as his power of compulsion kicked in.

 

The tension in the air broke suddenly when the doctor moved, breaking the men’s concentration as they turned to look at him. The doctor administered a small vial to the king and then recapped it, discarding it into the massive fireplace nearby. 

 

“That should do the trick. The king should sleep for a while,” the physician noted, wringing his hands in a cloth he’d pulled from his satchel. 

 

“And he needs peace and quiet in order to recuperate,” he ordered, shooing the four of them toward the door. 

 

“He’s absolutely right,” Elijah agreed. “Let us be on our way.” With that, he ushered his brothers toward the exit as he readjusted the sleeves of his silk shirt. 

 

Klaus shot him a suspicious, dark look, but Elijah ignored him and waved him forward. Sending one last look back at the physician, annoyance sparked in his chest. He’d lost control of the situation, and now he was being pushed from the chamber like an unruly child. Aggravation burned in Klaus’s chest, tasting bitter in the back of his mouth.

 

The four of them shuffled out into the hallway together and the doctor shut the doors firmly behind them. Elijah gave the cardinal a respectful nod as Klaus glowered beside him. Nearby, Kol watched in silence, for once.

 

“Cardinal,” Elijah commented respectfully before reaching over to plant his hand against Klaus’s back, subtly pushing him in the opposite direction.

 

“ _ Messieurs _ ,” Richelieu bid them adieu after a momentary pause, turning with a swirl of his crimson robes to stalk off down the corridor and disappear from view.

 

The moment he was gone, Klaus stopped stubbornly in his tracks, his eyes blazing as he glared at his older brother.

 

“What was that in there?” he snapped, lunging forward and snatching two fists full of Elijah’s shirt. Kol rounded on him, throwing out an arm and bracing his hand on Klaus’s shoulder to hold him at bay. Just as fast, Elijah held up a warning hand, warding Kol off with a slight shake of his head.

 

“Niklaus, calm down.”

 

Klaus did anything but. He bared his teeth instead and shook Elijah angrily.

 

“That doctor was compelled to do as I told him. Why did he move?” His question was directed at them both although his anger was turned predominantly on his older brother.

 

Elijah reached up and swatted Klaus’s hands off of him with a swipe of his arm and a slight, scornful sniff. Taking a step back to regain a modicum of his personal space, he frowned disapprovingly as he straightened his clothes.

 

“Actually, you told him to do as you said and not to oust us from the king’s chambers. You never told him not to move, or not to listen to either of us.” He glanced at Kol before turning his gaze back to Klaus.

 

“While you were having an ego contest with the Cardinal, I filled an empty medicine vial with my blood and compelled the doctor to give it to the king.” He shrugged and pursed his lips. “Upon enlightening him on the benefits of rest after consuming such a concoction, I suppose he rushed us out of the room of his own volition: as any physician of worth would.”

 

Kol smirked. “Did you neglect to compel him to forget it all, brother?” he asked in a lilting tone, clucking his tongue.

 

Elijah gave him a reproachful look. “Of course not. I don’t care to leave a mess in my wake the way  _ some  _ of you do.” 

 

The youngest brother reached over and playfully elbowed Klaus in his side. “Hey Nik, he’s talking about us: the lot with the K names. We’re messy,” he pointed out facetiously with a dark grin. The glare slowly left Klaus’s face as Elijah lazily rolled his eyes at his youngest brother’s silliness.

 

“Kol, you are best when you are at your worst,” Klaus informed him, cutting his eyes over to give him a smirk. “Never change.”

 

Elijah exhaled dramatically and gave them both a droll look. “If you two are done, we have a werewolf to track down.”

 

With that, he gave them a pointed look and turned to walk away, followed not far behind by his brothers while Kol childishly made faces at the back of his head.


	31. Chapter 31

"It was a shift in broad daylight. There isn't even a full moon this time of the month," Klaus mused in consternation, leaning against the window overlooking the courtyards in the center of the palatial estate. He released a hard breath and shook his head slightly, frowning out the window.

"That's impossible," Elijah noted, stating the obvious. He opened his mouth to say more, but Kol interjected.

"Not unless there's witchcraft involved," he pointed out, pulling his feet down from where he'd had them propped against the ornate wood-paneled wall. As his older brothers turned their attention on him, he basked only momentarily in it before he continued.

"There are a few magic practices that come to mind which may contain a spell to do such a thing."

"To turn someone into a temporary werewolf?" Klaus asked skeptically, a note of disdain in his voice. After his own werewolf side was suppressed by their mother, he'd drug them all into his eternal quest for the moonstone, a magical artifact required to break the spell on his blood. They'd heard no word of it in years, but that deterred him none. His jealousy of full-blooded werewolves was potent; he coveted their ability to turn on the full moon and to revel in their bestial side.

"To temporarily turn a werewolf," Kol corrected, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees, twining his fingers together in front of him. "There's a type of magic known as transformative magic. That would make it possible, and if that were the case, then there's likely to be some magical residue. Some arcane backlash, so to speak."

"Perhaps among the musketeers.. Since we know the beast if one of them."

Klaus stiffened imperceptibly at Elijah's word choice, but the older brother didn't notice.

"It's likely. I'll do some research," Kol offered.

"Good boy," Elijah commended him with a small, proud smile. Kol beamed, pleased to be the center of attention receiving his older brother's praise.

However, the moment was crudely interrupted as the chamber doors opened, admitting Rebekah into the common area and drawing their attention. Kol moped silently as Elijah and Klaus were both instantly distracted by her. Klaus turned from where he'd been leaning against the window. Crossing his arms, he scrutinized his sister as she blatantly ignored him and advanced across the room to her suite.

"Still sulking, it seems," he commented, snorting softly to himself.

"Rebekah, we were worried about you," Elijah informed her in a gentler tone, rising from his seat as she crossed the room. He noticed that her blond curls looked disheveled and her gloves were missing, but he kept the observations to himself.

"One of us was," Kol clarified caustically under his breath.

"Oh, she's fine, 'Lijah," Klaus observed, moving away from the window to trail her across the room. "It even looks like our sister had a bit of fun."

He reached out and snatched her hand, forcing her to stop and glare murderously at him as he held her bare hand up on display.

"You may get sun on your fingers, sister," he hissed, leaning toward her. "How lewd," he mocked dramatically, impersonating their older brother.

Suddenly, Klaus's countenance darkened, and he grasped her arm more forcefully, making her gasp softly as he rounded on her. She gave him a black look with her head held high.

"Niklaus…" Elijah warned, but Klaus ignored him.

"Where have you been, dear sister?" he asked in a low tone. He leaned closer to her, inhaling deeply. His eyes swirled, darkening intensely as his mood soured. Rebekah's jaw set and she didn't back away from him. Snatching her wrist out of his grasp, she glowered defiantly at him.

"That is no business of yours," Elijah pointed out, his tone growing thin along with his patience. He stepped forward to interject between them, but Klaus and Rebekah continued to stare each other down as if there was no one else in the room.

"I warned you, Rebekah," Klaus growled, his eyes gleaming maliciously. "If you so much as touch a man, I will kill him. I'll even let you watch." He gave her a small, unamused smile.

"There's no need for that, Nik," Rebekah countered suddenly, breaking her own silence. She appeared deceptively cheery, but the boiling anger in her eyes betrayed the rage she truly felt.

"You've surmised correctly, brother. I was with a musketeer," she revealed, sparking his possessive anger to life. However, she spoke again before he could react, her words meticulously striking the right chords at the exact moments as if she'd planned this speech beforehand.

In fact, she had. Only, her brothers didn't know that.

She took another step toward Klaus until they were nearly nose to nose. "I touched a musketeer… I fed on him," she revealed, her eyes blazing.

"I fed on him until I was done, and then I left him there," she growled in her alto voice.

Klaus's chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he absorbed her words. His expression cleared with a realization, and she could tell by the look on his face that her clever words had convinced him. He believed she'd fed out of anger toward him (since everything had to be about him), and she'd left the musketeer to die. The truth was far from that, but she hadn't lied. She had fed on Aramis until she was satisfied, and she had left him afterwards. It was the details that she kept to herself, allowing her brother to misinterpret.

With that, she disengaged, staring him down for a moment longer before turning her back on him to march from the room. She'd won this round.


	32. Chapter 32

Standing beside her husband's sick bed, Anne felt herself filled with an inappropriate flush of disappointment as his chest rose and fell in an even breath. He was recovering nicely, although still sleeping most of the time, and she should be overwhelmed with relief. Any good wife would be. Instead, her thoughts were filled with images of him groping her and drunkenly humping her when he felt like it, spending no more time with her other than the schedule attempt to impregnate her, to reproduce a legitimate heir. She thought of his lecherous gaze raking across crowds of women and how many of them he took to bed with him, not particularly caring if she knew.

All she could think about was how relieved she would be if this attack had freed her from him forever.

Silently, she stood at Louis' bedside and thought her treasonous thoughts in a rare moment alone. Her ladies-in-waiting were waiting just outside the king's chambers with the guards, giving her a peace and quiet that she honestly enjoyed more than the fact that her adulterous husband was recovering.

She felt the Cardinal enter the room before she actually heard him. He had a way of appearing without so much as a rustle of his crimson robes, or storming into a space in such a flurry that no one would miss him. There was no in-between. This was one of the prior: her least favorite of his entrances.

Remaining still, refusing to acknowledge him until he addressed her - she was the queen, and he seemed to forget this - she resisted the urge to shiver from his presence.

"Your Majesty," Cardinal Richelieu finally spoke, his voice as smooth as a viper. She lifted her chin slightly to acknowledge him, to grant him permission to speak, without taking her eyes off of her husband. Although she couldn't confess to much fondness for either of them, Louis was currently the most favorable choice.

"With these continued attacks, I am worried for your safety." She doubted this was true. "Forgive me if I am overstepping my bounds in any way," - she wouldn't because she knew he only said it out of necessity, not because he sincerely cared about saying something out of line - "but I believe something must be done to protect you both. The source of this evil must be rooted out."

She dropped her chin, making one of the curls of her hair roll down her jaw as she looked, unseeing, at her husband.

"I suppose you have a plan," she stated evenly, carefully and expertly keeping her mistrust of him out of her voice.

"Well… Yes, milady, I do." She'd known he did before he'd answered her. Of course he did.

"You're not safe here, my queen. You have already been attacked by the mysterious beast once. Not the king…" He took a breath, feigning emotional distress she didn't believe for a moment. "With his attack, with his near death… the safety of a future heir is more vital than ever."

She stiffened imperceptibly, her hand that rested on the edge of Louis' bed involuntarily clenching the mattress hard enough to stretch the sheets toward her. Quickly, she released it, wary that he may have noticed.

Once again, she was reminded, and degraded, that she was meant to be breeding stock for France. It didn't matter that her allegiance had genuinely shifted to this country, or that she was more capable of managing royal matters than her childish buffoon of a husband. If she could not produce for him an heir, then her position here was at stake.

"When His Majesty is recovered, we could ask him."

Did that matter? she wondered. She guessed the cardinal's plan, whatever it was and however secretive, was already in motion. "But, with all due respect, my queen… I do believe you would be far safer at the country palace, or the monastery - with your own personal guard and all of the amenities a lady of your station requires, of course - until this threat has passed."

She took the subtle jab he threw at her and didn't retort. The Cardinal was a product of France, and she was not. If she made the wrong move or misspoke, she endangered herself far more than the mysterious wolf beast ever could.

"How long do you think that would be, Your Eminence? And what of my dear husband?" Her voice was soft, caring, and delicate. The members of the court often forgot she was as good at their game as they.

"The king is strong; just look at how quickly he has rallied back!" She wasn't sure if she detected chagrin in his tone when he said it, but he didn't pause long enough for her to contemplate it." I'm sure it would be no more than a few weeks, perhaps two months, before he and I together could root out the problem and eradicate it."

Long enough he would have the king's ear without her influence and could sway Louis toward him even more. Dread flowed through her like the river of the dead. A moment of panic gripped her, making it hard to breathe. If she was exiled, 'for her protection', for so long, she was in far more danger than she currently was from the beast that had attacked both her and her husband. The beast standing right behind her posed far more threat.

She couldn't begin to imagine the poison Richelieu would fill Louis' ear with to remove her from the throne. Thusfar unable to produce him an heir, when he had whores and their bastards littering the continent now, she knew she was quickly losing his favor. It wouldn't take much to convince him she was unfit to remain queen, or even to replace her the way Henry of England had with his wives.

Feeling at a loss, and worrisome over her now, uncertain future, she knew it was unwise to counter him. He had the upper hand, and she had no ally here. The court would never side with her especially about a presumably innocuous vacation to the country. Her own ladies didn't even trust her. She felt utterly alone, as she was sure the Cardinal intended her to.

When she finally slowly turned to face him, the clever gleam in his eyes was unmistakable although his expression was nothing but concern for her well-being. She wasn't fooled for a moment.

"I will pray for our king's recovery, and for his strength, of body and spirit," she stressed. She looked him right in the eye, not flinching or cowering.

"And I will pray that the Lord's will be done." Her expression was grave as she added, "For us all." His expression was unreadable, but his eyes glistened with an unspoken challenge as he drew himself up slightly and inhaled carefully.

With her own silent barb thrown and her heart racing, she clasped her hands together in the fabric of her skirts and stepped past him to rejoin her ladies in the hallway. He remained behind, too close to the king for her comfort, but there was nothing she could do. When he finally spoke, it was only just loud enough for her to hear as she reached the door.

"As will I, milady. As will I."


	33. Chapter 33

Tonight was a rare night when he would not get himself too intoxicated to function, whether by blood or alcohol. Perhaps it was bourne from a desire to earn his brothers’ praise, or the desire to sate his own curiosity; he wasn’t sure which, but decided it didn’t matter. As a child, Kol had been the first to feel his magic, and after these centuries, he had never forgotten it. He missed it the way a soldier missed a phantom limb. The closest he’d come to that rush magic gave him was when he tasted the final drop of a mortal’s blood. There was a moment, a blinding flash, when a victim’s very vitality left them that invigorated him, and in that moment, he could feel that fire in his veins again.   
  


But it was always so unsatisfying: less enjoyable than an orgasm and more fleeting.   
  


He craved that sensation again, the electrifying power of witchdom. Sniffing out the transformative magic he believed was allowing a werewolf to shift without a full moon was as much a selfish pull toward magic as it was a research effort for his family. He knew they wouldn’t check on him - his brothers’ attention was central to Bekah whenever they weren’t distracted by the pretty women and matters of court - so he was free to do what he wanted until he felt like returning to them with whatever information he managed to gather.   
  


Pushing his cloak back over the pommel of his sword, more for show than out of any possibility that he might draw it, he strolled lazily into the dirtier quarter of the city surrounding the palace. He’d decided witches wouldn’t stay in the affluent parts of the city, forced to disguise their spell ingredients and wares, and even if he was wrong, this was where he’d rather be. The mongrels and vagrants were his sort of folk: the displaced and forgotten of the world.   
  


Grinning toothily at one seemingly unwashed man, his clothes hanging on him like rags and his silvering hair a mess, Kol clapped him on the back and proceeded through the doorway behind him which was hidden from plain view of the street by floating tatters of cloth. Ignoring the whores who helped disguise the door by loitering before it - pausing only to touch his fingertips beneath the blond one’s chin, giving her a hooded, lecherous smile that made her giggle suggestively - he swept under the overhanging rags and through the entrance.   
  


The atmosphere beyond was another world entirely. Lanterns splashed vibrating orange light around the place, bathing it in warmth even on the coldest, dreariest days. A bar teeming with clamoring patrons consumed one wall, and the rest of the room was filled with an audience of tables which seemed clustered with customers at all times. Any ordinary nobleman would be a target in a place like this, but several of the regulars waves to him across the room and roared a variety of greetings at him over the din as he brushed through.   
  


Greeting them in kind, he continued on through the orange gloom and to the even rowdier hall adjacent to it. Shoving through a sturdy oak door at the rear of the tavern, which ejected him onto a landing atop a set of stone stairs, he hastened down the short stairwell to the second door at the bottom. Here, he paused and held his breath before shoving it open to bathe in the yells of battle and the grunts of violence.   
  


Set in the ground was a fighting pit, a space hardly more than 10 square feet, entirely ringed by men and women alike, betting on the violent combat happening in the midst of them. Employees of the pit slipped through the crowd, taking bets and passing out mead: a courtesy of the tavern above. Anyone could fight in the pit, until bested. There was even a ladies night every Wednesday, both to the pleasure and terror of the men who flocked to watch.   
  


This evening, however, was one of the open nights, and precisely why he was here. Short of sex, there was hardly a better way to loose a man’s lips than to satisfy his lust for blood and alcohol. Kol considered this a reconnaissance mission with a bit of self-indulgence mixed in.   
  


Pushing his way to the front of the ring of bodies encircling the fighters, he watched them with interest gleaming in his dark eyes. Quickly, he decided which he believed would be the winner and cast his bet into the passing money basket. The taller, broader, light-skinned man was landing solid punches that Kol could hear reverberate through bone with his keen vampire hearing. A few more blows like that would surely take the other man down.   
  


The crowd pressed forward with an encouraging chorus of yells as the blond man landed another. They expected this to be an easy fight, and as his darker-skinned opponent staggered, Kol presumptuously stepped to the side to collect his money. Just then, the smaller, darker-skinned man balanced his weight, becoming effortlessly surefooted in the blink of an eye. The subtle shift was hardly noticeable, and Kol doubted anyone else recognized it, but he instantly knew the bets in this room had been misplaced.    
  


The swift, precisely placed punches that followed took the blond man to his knees swiftly until he was prone on the ground in a puddle of blood running from the corner of his mouth to soak into the sand on the floor. A chorus of dismayed cries filled the pit, save only for two men on the far side of the circle who quietly collected their winnings, having bet on the underdog.   
  


Curious, Kol cocked his head and then whisked the musketeer’s cloak off of his shoulders, tossing it to the pit boy, a squire of the underground. Stripping off his vest and shirt, he stepped forward to challenge the winner.    
  


A firm hand grasped his forearm, stopping him before he could enter the ring. Frowning, he confrontationally glowered at the man who’d seized his arm.   
  


“No rings.” The pitmaster jutted his chin toward the decorative daylight ring on Kol’s hand, the mass of which covered from his thumb from nearly the base of his finger to the knuckle. “Unfair advantage,” the man grunted, nodding his head toward the basket containing the rest of Kol’s clothes.   
  


Rolling his eyes, he yanked the ring from his hand and shoved it down into the fabric of his clothes. Inside, with night falling outside, he had no need for the ring now, and he didn’t give it a second thought as he turned and entered the fighting ring.   
  


The dark-skinned man gave him a surprisingly jovial smile as he wiped water from his chin and then splashed more into his naturally curly hair to cool off. His smile seemed genuine, not mocking or threatening, but the smile of an enthusiastic competitor. With water dripping from the coarse hair on his head onto his nose and cheeks, he shook out his arms and bounced on the edge of the ring.   
  


Calculating, confident he would win thanks to his vampire strength advantage, Kol stepped forward as the onlookers placed their bets. Sizing up his opponent, he noted the man’s movements and calculated his weakest points. He seemed to favor his right hip as if harboring an old injury, and Kol catalogued the information to use to his advantage. He wanted as much of a fair fight he would get before he grew bored and inevitably won.   
  


The other man feinted forward and Kol darted away, barely containing his speed in his adrenalized excitement. Careful not to use it too soon, he fell into the dance of the fight dodging most hits and allowing several to meet their mark. To his surprise, his opponent's stamina didn’t start to flag when any normal human’s would. Each swing was as powerful as the one before. EAch hit landed as hard as the last.    
  


His own energy far surpassed a human’s, but his competitor’s did as well. Surprise and intrigue filled him as they fought, and his curiosity seized him. He would be able to smell if the man was a vampire, even over the encompassing musk of the pit, so he knew he wasn’t.   
  


So what was he?   
  


No warlock could match a vampire’s strength in a hand-to-hand fight, not even with the assistance of magic. That left only one alternative he could imagine.   
  


Feinting left, forcing his opponent to put weight on his weaker right side, Kol darted back to the right and grasped him before he could counterattack. Using a burst of his vampspeed, he sank his fangs into the flesh part of the man’s arm. Swiftly, he sucked a mouthful of blood and was barely able to swallow before the man hissed in pain and wheeled around with his other arm, walloping him hard with his fist.   
  


Surprisingly, the blow was hard enough to make his head spin, and he staggered back, barely keeping his footing. Just as he was about to catch his balance, another blow hit him from the other side, ringing his head and knocking him off his feet.   
  


Landing hard on his back, stunned with surprise that he’d been beaten, he lay there for a long moment as his vision blurred and his head spun. The crowd around the ring roared and cheered as the end of the match was calling, some from joy as they gathered their well-placed bets, and some out of frustration from losing. Suddenly, a hand reached down and grabbed his, helping him to his feet with a strong tug.   
  


“You really know how to take a punch,” the dark-skinned man said in a thick French accent with a lowborn lilt. A wide grin split his face, accentuated by the thread of blood at the corner of his mouth where he’d taken one of Kol’s punches.   
  


Still dizzy, Kol drunkenly returned his smile. “I try,” he replied, making the man chuckle.   
  


“Porthos,” the man introduced himself, holding a hand out to shake. Kol shook it as his stomach lurched inexplicably. He ignored the sensation as Porthos turned and gestured toward his friends.   
  


Now that they were close, he recognized them. Leaning against the wall was Aramis, the musketeer his sister had her eye on. He smiled as he drew his thumb and index finger down the strips of facial hair outlining his mouth. He wasn’t wearing his musketeer’s cloak, and neither did the other two men Kol was sure were part of the regiment as well.   
  


Sitting beside Aramis was a quieter, stoic man with a pallid face. His pale eyes were set deeper into his face, making them appear hooded beneath his shaggy hair.   
  


“It’s unwise to wear your musketeer cloak into an establishment like this,” the man noted, a veiled hint of amusement in his gaze. “Unless you like standing out as an easy target.”   
  


“Go easy on him, Aramis,” Porthos chided with another infectious smile, elbowing Kol as he said it. “He clearly likes a challenge.”   
  


Kol managed a laugh just as his stomach curdled again. Feeling as if he may be sick, he wrapped an arm around his belly just as he happened to glance at the bite gleaming on Porthos’ arm: the bite that was already healing. His stomach flipped again, and he knew he was ready to retch in the midst of them if he didn’t excuse himself.   
  


Quickly, he apologized for his hasty exit and gathered his clothes from their basin before rushing off out of the pit. His skin paled further than it naturally was, and he lunged against the wall the moment he was free of the sea of bodies. Instantly, he threw up on the ground, narrowly avoiding getting blood on his clothes.   
  


The fast healing… the incredible strength… the blood he’d swallowed that was now making him sick…   
  


Porthos was the werewolf.   
  


He wasn’t able to bask in the satisfaction that he’d solved the mystery before he threw up again. Panting heavily, he knew he needed to return to the palace to recover and tell his family what he’d unwittingly discovered.   
  


Porthos, a musketeer, was the werewolf that had attacked the queen and bitten Rebekah. He was the werewolf that had attacked the king.   
  


Lurching to the side, he spread his feet for balance so he could dress himself. With his body feeling like it was on fire, he yanked his shirt on over his head and clumsily unrolled his vest and tunic to withdraw his daylight ring.   
  


But it was nowhere to be found.   
  


Frowning, distracted for a moment by his search, he dug through his clothes to no avail. Cursing under his breath, assuming the pitmaster had pocketed it for profit after forcing him to remove it before the fight, he staggered upright and struggled to gather the strength to return to the pit.   
  


Just then, a metallic ping echoed through the stone corridor, snagging his attention. Blinking blearily, leaning with one arm on the wall, he heard the sound again and tried to focus down the passageway.    
  


The sound cut short, muffled by a glove hand, and his eyebrows drew together as he lurched forward a step. Focusing through the semi-darkness, this time he saw the flick of a hand and the flash of light glinting off of the familiar piece of jewelry as it spun in the air.   
  


“Hey!” he called out hoarsely. His entire body hurt from digesting the werewolf’s blood as he started off at a snail’s pace toward the cloaked figure tossing his daylight ring lazily into the air.   
  


“That’s mine. Give it back, or I’ll tear you apart.” His threat was diminished by the weakness in his voice and the lumbering gait of his steps.   
  


Dizzied as his sight erupted with tunnel vision, he lunged to grab the ring as it flew into the air again, but fell to his face on the ground instead.   
  


Just before he blacked out, he heard a smooth, honeyed, female voice, “You won’t be tearing anyone apart tonight, I’m afraid.”


	34. Chapter 34

Kol awoke with his head pounding.

The burning sensation of the werewolf's blood was gone and replaced by a gnawing hunger. Sitting up slowly, his fingers pressed into moldy hay, and his nose was filled with the smell of mold and rot. Opening his eyes, he struggled to focus on the room around him before he realized he was in a compact cell, underground if the smell was any clue. Attempting to cast his sense of smell further proved futile and yielded only more of the moldy smell, accompanied by the faintest whiff of perfume.

With a metallic chime, his daylight ring suddenly came rolling into view, shaking and falling to its side just beyond the line of his cell. Without thinking, he lunged for it, only to hiss as the band of sunlight ringing his cell struck his fingers, searing them and making him snatch his hand back.

"I enjoy being right."

Cradling his fingers as they healed, Kol squinted into the dungeon toward the voice. Gradually, emerald green satin with black lace embellishments came into view past the curtain of sunlight. Through his hunger and hasty investigation when he'd woken up, he hadn't noticed her, but now, she moved and stepped into view just beyond his reach. The perfume smell reached him again, now with some context.

Her satin dress rustled and crumpled as she bent down to look at him. Her dark hair, curling into perfect black ringlets, shifted around an impossibly beautiful human face, her ivory skin shining like alabaster in the glow of the sunlight. When she smiled at him, her dark eyes twinkling maliciously, he was simultaneously attracted to and disgusted by her.

She was clever and never reached past the sunlight barrier as she bent at the waist, giving him a healthy feast of her cleavage in her revealing gown, to retrieve his daylight ring from the ground. He watched her, trying to veil his interest and failing, as she turned his ring over in her fingers. She examined it boredly as she spoke again.

"I guessed you must be a vampire the moment I saw this." She flipped it lazily back and forth between her thumb and forefinger, the heavy metal thunking on her skin. "No self-respecting nobleman would wear such a gaudy thing unless there was a good reason for it."

She smirked slowly even as he ignored the jab.

"What does the M stand for? Marquis? Or perhaps your name…" She paused, he guessed for dramatic effect.

"Mikaelson, perhaps?"

Although he once again controlled his reaction, barely maintaining a straight face, she smiled broader, knowing she'd guessed correctly. Due to the clever glint in her eyes, he doubted she was guessing at all. The sunlit prison cell was far too convenient for coincidence. This woman whom he'd never seen before had somehow known what he was and arranged this especially for him.

That meant she probably knew what his family was.

"As soon as the sun is down, I will remove that smile from your pretty face," he replied in a clipped tone, cocking his head and giving her a threatening smile which narrowed his eyes into slits.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Kol Mikaelson." She stated his full name to prove his trap was deeply set. Taking a step back, her green dress rustling benignly, disguising the viper within the finery, she wrapped her fingers around one of the bars beyond the sun line.

"These bars are coated with vervain-laced sealant… should you grow foolish and desperate enough to attempt bending them or breaking the lock to get free." She jangled the open padlock with her free hand and gave him another smile.

"Oh, and of course," she released the bars and stepped back toward him, tracing the choker she wore around her neck with her slender fingers, "I cannot be compelled, so don't try that either."

Smirking darkly, she rose to her full height, her movements far more predatory than a normal lady's. "It seems everything is taken care of," she commented brightly, slipping his daylight ring into the valley between her breasts and pressing it down until it disappeared in the bodice of her dress.

Her skin was so smooth and fine, he instantly wondered what it would be like to sink his fangs into one of those porcelain breasts, and his stomach rolled hungrily at the thought. She smiled as if she'd somehow guessed what he was thinking.

"Make yourself comfortable, Kol," she encouraged him. "This will be your home for a while. At least until your family is dispatched of."

His chest constricted for his family's well-being. Although his siblings didn't cherish his presence the way they cherished each other, he still cared about them. Knowing they were impervious to everything except the white oak was his only solace. This was a fact he wasn't impetuous enough to say to her, but he did want to know her mysterious plans.

"What do you intend to do to them?" he growled, pushing himself to his feet although he couldn't cross the sun line without burning himself again.

She smiled at him and clicked her tongue. "Don't worry. I will tell you the whole plan… once it's in action," she clarified with a coy glint in her eye. "Can't have you foolishly trying to interfere. So, for now, you're doing your part simply by being away from them… trimming their number."

She turned fully toward him, her expression shifting like the wind. The look on her face was something cunning and manipulative in its sobriety, but he was unable to interpret it as her next words cut him.

"Something tells me they may not notice your absence at all. You are apart from them so often: the black sheep of the family."

He was unable to process, past the roaring in his ears, how long she must have observed them to realize that fact. He'd always been different from his siblings with their ridiculous symbiotic bond. He was set apart from them even when they were together. It was a painful point of contention for him, something his brothers and sister had never even noticed, and she'd struck the chord.

"Rest well, Kol," she bid him adieu, her voice softer than before, whether out of sympathy of manipulation, he was unable to tell.


	35. Chapter 35

Seated on her ornate throne at her husband’s side, Anne was silent as the day’s issues unfolded. Farmers and noblemen alike slowly passed by their feet as the king held court for the first time since his recovery. The bite marks on his skin had faded entirely, and, although it didn’t show on her face, Anne rued what his recovery meant for her personally. In the days that had passed while his strength returned, the cardinal’s threat had never faded from her thoughts. Day and night, she’d run through every option she could think of to counter the cardinal’s impending attack. She was at a loss, and her nerves were raw as a result.

Deliberately, to appear nonchalantly loving although it was all for show, Louis reached over and brushed his hands over hers. Smiling by rote, she cast a look at him, ever the attentive wife. The look in his eyes disgusted her; he was ready to bed her, and she would have no choice in the matter. Giving him another smile to cover her distaste, she looked away, casting her gaze across the room to see anything else but that lecherousness. 

As if summoned by her thought, there was Elijah Mikaelson near the back of the hall. Her thought instantly returned to her defense against Cardinal Richelieu, and the makings of an idea blossomed in her mind. Her throat constricted as she held onto the sliver of hope.

In that next moment, Niklaus Mikaelson appeared behind his brother, making her throat constrict for another reason entirely. She chose to believe it was disgust.

She wondered if he felt her eyes on him when he turned to look at her a moment later, meeting her gaze. Her eyes darkened as their gazes locked, and just as she was going to look away, the slightest of smiles quirked the corner of his mouth upward. His blue eyes glimmered with a light she couldn’t interpret, or chose not to.

Feeling her stomach coil inexplicably into a knot, she hastily broke eye contact with him and tightened her grip on her throne. There was something overtly suggestive in his gaze that she chose not to take part in, although she still felt his eyes raking over her from across the massive hall. As hard as she tried, her stomach wouldn’t stop coiling, and she couldn’t ignore the blatant difference in her body’s reaction to that look versus the hungry look Louis had given her only minutes before.

One made her feel like a piece of livestock. The other made her feel like a woman. She willfully refused to examine it further.

Louis was her husband and the king of France. She must obey that, even as she felt the disgusted clench in her chest when he reached over to squeeze her hand to silently tell her it was time for them to leave. Rising to her feet beside him, she plastered on her well-practiced, genteel smile as he dismissed the crowd. She carefully avoided making eye contact with Klaus again as Louis pressed a hand to the small of her back and herded her from the room. She glided alongside him, numbness settling over her as he took her hand to drag her impatiently to her bedchambers. This sort of bedding, sex for the purpose of reproduction, was never done in his rooms.

Every moment of the act was a well-practiced maneuver on her part. Every exhale, every gasp, was choreographed after two years of this.

As her back collided with the bed beneath him, she moved her body through the steps of her dance. Nothing about having sex with him had ever been about her pleasure, only his and only for him to make an heir. She doubted he would bed her again once she finally had his child - except perhaps to create a spare heir should something befall the first - and she found far more relief in that than she would ever admit out loud.

Once he finished, he rolled off of her, landing on his back with a triumphant exhale. Silently, he commended himself on a job well done, although he’d taken a total of five minutes to finish and hadn’t once noticed he gave her no real pleasure in the meantime.

They lay side-by-side in the bed for a long moment before he rolled up onto his side to face her. “The cardinal expressed his concern for your safety,” he mentioned, his brows etched with concern she was sure wasn’t genuine. She was mildly surprised by how quickly Richelieu had acted. Her stomach tightened nervously; now was the time for her to act. 

“He reminded me that the beast which haunts our halls has already attacked you once. It could attack you again: a queen carrying an heir.” He reached over and spread his hand over her belly as if the heat of his palm would make his seed propagate within her. She fought the urge to get sick.

“I would rather stay by your side,” she argued gently, sliding her fingers over his hand and expertly ignoring the clamminess of his skin.

“What better place is there for a queen than by her king’s side?” she asked, schooling her features into devotion for him.

“I would rather you be safe until the threat has been removed,” he countered immediately, as if he’d prepared for her retort.

With her heart racing, she shifted closer to him, utilizing her womanly charms as she ran her hand up his arm.

“Where could I be safer than by your side?” 

She was desperate to stay, to provide some filter between him and the cardinal. She didn’t trust the cardinal and often doubted if he was truly a man of God at all. Unfortunately, she couldn’t voice her concerned because Louis would never believe her. All she could do was run interference between them, as she had since their marriage.

Louis smiled patronizingly at her and pressed his hand into her belly again before leaning over to kiss her forehead. “Let us men be your champions and make the palace safe for you again. You will be safe at the summer palace, and when it is safe here again, you can return to my side.”

Sighing inwardly, she felt a cold dread flood through her along with the realization that she had no way to win this argument.

“Louis…” she breathed his name in one last act of desperation.

“Anne,” he said firmly, his eyes going cold. “This is final. The future of France must be safe.” His hand on her belly felt like a vice now, and she knew arguing would be futile.

“You’ll leave under cover of darkness, this evening at sunset. You may choose which of your ladies may accompany you, and I will send a small contingent of musketeers with you as well.”

He brushed a hand absently over her blond hair before sitting up in the bed. “You’ll have nothing to fear, my queen.” And with that, he stood from the bed, effectively dismissing her as he gathered his clothes and left her bedroom.


	36. Chapter 36

The most nondescript of the royal carriages were parked outside the palace as the sun began setting, and the queen’s nerves were raw as the reality of her exile settled over her. Musketeers readied themselves for departure, their muskets and swords rattling against their sides as they thoroughly checked the horses and luggage, preparing the group to leave.

Standing before her mirrors, Anne held her arms out at her sides as Rebekah tightened the ties of her traveling corset. Staring at her reflection, reminding herself she couldn’t look this miserable when she departed her rooms, she looked up at Rebekah’s reflection over her shoulder.

“You will be with me, won’t you, Lady Rebekah?”

Rebekah, consumed with thoughts of Armis, his rough hands coarsing over her skin as he’d kissed her in the gardens the evening before, looked up at the queen in the mirror and gave her a smile. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Aramis had been chosen as part of the queen’s entourage earlier in the day, which amplified her willingness to go. She gave her friend, her queen, another smile. “I won’t leave you.”

Anne released a breath of relief.

“I greatly value your companionship, Rebekah,” she admitted, her sincerity on her face as it only ever was in moments like this, when they were alone and she was safe to show her emotions.

“As do I yours,” Rebekah admitted, tying the laces into a bow at the top of the corset. Anne was able to smile slightly through her stress, thanks to the comment.

Gathering her dress from Rebekah’s arms, Anne dipped her head through it and straightened it over her underskirts. “Would you summon your brother, Lord Elijah, for me?” she asked in an even tone.

Wondering what the queen could want with her oldest brother, Rebekah nodded and hastened out to find him. She did so easily and explained the queen had requested an audience. He was equally as befuddled by the summons as she, but he hastily followed her back to the queen’s chambers.

Anne was fully dressed and awaiting him when they returned, her gloved hands resting over her waist as she leveled a calm look at him. She gestured for Rebekah to stay as Elijah bowed at his waist before her.

“Monsieur Elijah, I have a request of the utmost importance for you.” She took a breath, the sound shaking softly in the air between them. “Upon my departure, I believe you may be the only one in this court I can trust.”

Elijah’s chest inflated slightly as he straightened to his full height and dipped his head genteelly. “Your wish is my command, Majesty.”

Her voice dropped somberly, her tone low so no one listening beyond the room would overhear her as she continued. “I am afraid my husband’s principles may be misled in my absence,” she admitted. “There are those who would see me deposed from my throne, and my… vacation,” -- she’d almost called it what it truly was: an exile -- “endangers my position as queen even as it protects me from the beast prowling within this castle.”

She cast her eyes toward the wall as if she could see through it to the cardinal: the true beast within these walls. Turning back after a beat, she continued. 

“My hope is that you will be my voice, that you will help His Majesty to hear wisdom whilst others may attempt to sway him otherwise.” Her eyebrows drew together slightly, consternation etching across her dainty features.

Elijah stepped forward immediately and bowed to her, sinking to one knee on the floor at her feet. 

“Of course. I will do as you wish, my queen.”

Rebekah knew her brother enjoyed little more than dabbling in politics and subtlety. She imagined she could see him quaking with anticipation already as he bowed his head before the queen.

“I know you will, milord.” Anne reached out and brushed his shoulder with her fingertips, silently granting him permission to stand. As he rose, she released a heavy breath and barely managed another smile. “Perhaps, when I return, we will all have your joyous wedding to attend.”

Elijah bowed his head even as he stiffened, a slightly strained smile on his face. “Perhaps, milady.”

The queen’s expression became distant as her thoughts turned toward her journey. With a hasty nod, she left the room without another word. 

There was only a pause and a shared look between the siblings, silent understanding passing between the two of them before Rebekah swept off after her.

 

 

The sky was on fire with oranges and reds as the queen gracefully exited the palace and came to a halt at the top of the sweeping staircase overlooking the carriages and their prancing, impatient horses. A few of her most trusted ladies and courtiers filled the few coaches, each with musketeers flanking them on horseback for protection.

As she took a breath, forcing her shoulders to rise and fall smoothly, the king appeared beside her and leaned in to give her a soft kiss on her cheek. He was practically vibrating with excitement, surely because he was almost free of her for two solid months, free to live as wildly and lecherously as he wished in her absence, while proclaiming to rid the palace of a mystery beast. She knew it all to be a sham. Cardinal Richelieu wanted her power. Louis wanted to bed every pretty girl who sauntered past him, without feeling any guilt for committing adultery. She wasn’t a fool; this forced vacation was more for them than it ever would be for her.

Suddenly, she was so disgusted by them both, by the entire court, that she started looking forward to her exile.

Just as she was about to step away, wanting to put space between herself and the palace, a figure appeared before them, blocking her path.

“Your Majesties.” Niklaus Mikaelson bowed low before them. The depth of the bow was dramatic and mocking - Anne could tell by the impish glint in his eyes as he raised his head - but the king didn’t seem to notice.

“I would like to offer my hand in protecting Her Majesty, Queen Anne.” His tone changed subtly as her name rolled off of his tongue, as if he was tasting it, and Anne lifted her chin slightly until she was watching him down the length of her nose.

“And also to act as a chaperone to my maiden sister Rebekah,” he added after a moment’s pause.

Behind the queen, Rebekah stiffened and kept her face passive even as her blue eyes started blazing. She didn’t dare venture a glance at Aramis over her brother’s shoulder. The joy that had bloomed in her chest over the idea of being away from her overprotective brothers for months was suddenly dashed. She was ready to voice her disagreement, in spite of how inappropriate it would be for her to speak up in this moment, when the cardinal cleared his throat on the king’s side opposite from the queen.

“That is an admirable offer, monsieur. I am sure His Majesty would appreciate the additional protection over his queen,” Cardinal Richelieu spoke, turning to the king as he said so. 

Louis grunted in agreement, nodding curtly, which made his black ringlets bob. Klaus’s grateful smile was wolfish as he glanced up at his sister before briefly meeting the queen’s gaze.

Reaching over, Louis took Anne’s hand and tugged her toward the stairs, practically dragging her toward her carriage at the front of the caravan. Her gait remained smooth as she walked proudly, as if marching to the gallows. She’d lost this battle against the cardinal, but she would leave with the pride intact. 

Upon reaching the carriage, she accepted the assistance of the musketeers who took her hands from the king and helped her climb inside. Sliding across the seat, she cast her gaze through the far window and couldn’t summon the energy to look back toward her home as Rebekah climbed in after her and shut the door behind them.


	37. Chapter 37

Night had fallen by the time Kol awoke again, and he was unsure if mere hours or entire days had passed. The door to his cell was locked shut. 

Curious if the woman’s threat was true, and caring to distract himself from his gnawing hunger, he stiffly stood and walked to the bars. Wrapping his hands around them, he roared in frustration and snatched them back as the vervain seared him, making his skin pucker and bubble.

“No trust without proof, hm?”

Her voice was as silky smooth and sultry as the first time he’d heard it, and he glared at the raven-haired beauty as she sauntered down the hallway toward him.

“Are you so important that you are my only prison guard?” he asked in a mocking tone, smiling mirthlessly at her as she stepped up to face him through the bars. She smirked at him in return.

“Your brother Niklaus and your sister Rebekah are gone with the queen. Out of the way,” she noted, ignoring his jab. “Step one is complete.”

She smirked deeply now, raising her eyebrows.

Nik and Bekah gone, but no mention of Elijah. He had no idea why the queen had departed, or why his siblings had gone with her. He felt a bit of relief that Elijah remained, but the unlikelihood of his absence being noted dashed his hopes anew. 

“Are you hungry, Kol?” she asked him, cocking her head. She was a predator evaluating another predator, and she was unafraid of him. 

He similarly ignored her question as she’d ignored his. He stepped closer to the bars. “You love hearing my name on your own lips, but have yet to give me yours.”

She smiled mildly at him. “Perhaps someday, vampire. When the time is right.”

“Is that part of your mysterious plan as well?” he asked, his dark eyes glinting as he watched her.

“Something like that.”

They stood, silently assessing each other for quite some time. He was curious about her lack of fear in him. Even with the poisoned bars, he could easily reach through and grab her around her neck. If he couldn’t compel her, he could still hurt her. He doubted she was stupid enough not to realize this; she’d already availed herself as the clever type. 

Suddenly, before he had the chance to open his mouth and question her again, a flicker of pain rippled through his temple. Flinching back, he shook his head, attempting to shake off the pain. His right eye throbbed once more, stronger than before and blinding him. He cried out at some point, but he could hardly hear his own voice past the throbbing in his head.

“Are you playing with our guest, my dear?”

The male voice was as smooth as hers, but more familiar, and Kol’s blood boiled as his head pounded harder with the magical headache.

His beautiful captor stiffened and took a measured step back from the bars, lifting her chin proudly. Her posture was stiff and erect, but her expression remained carefully bored and lethargically amused in reaction to that voice. The choker around her neck glimmered in the torchlight, reflecting a flicker of red fabric just before the man stepped past the wall and came into view.

Cardinal Richelieu smiled benignly at him, his hands hidden in the folds of his robes as they settled around his feet. His eyes gleamed as he carefully examined Kol behind the bars.

“Musketeer Mikaelson,” he growled, delight barely contained in his tone. “Such a lowly position for someone of your power… Of your family’s power.”

Kol exhaled roughly as the panging in his head suddenly eased. “The Cardinal… the country’s most powerful holy man. Some say closer to God than the Pope himself.” Kol smirked as if his head hadn’t just been hurting so badly he’d been afraid he’d start bleeding from his ears.

The cardinal smiled with a modesty Kol doubted was modest at all.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he drawled with a false humility dripping in his tone.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? But you certainly wouldn’t stop someone else from saying it either,” Kol pointed out, his eyes glinting as he drew himself back up to his full height. This was the same man who’d faced down Elijah without an ounce of fear. The man whose pride flowed around him as visibly as the blood red robes he wore. 

The cardinal’s smile never faltered on his lips as the mirth dissipated from his eyes. With a blinding flash, Kol’s head erupted with pain again, and he cried out again with surprise. The cardinal’s hand appeared from his robes, his fingers curling as he twisted his wrist. The pain in Kol’s head shifted from the magic, burning through his eyes and across the bridge of his nose with every movement of the man’s hand.

Feeling as if his eyes may melt in their sockets, he bellowed, cradling his head in his hands as his knees buckled. Without a hint of sympathy, Richelieu flexed his fingers and the pain disappeared again. In the aftermath, Kol sank onto his knees in the dirty straw, panting heavily as he patted his eyes, testing for blood. Thankful that there was none, since he couldn’t afford to become even more blood deprived than he already was, his shoulders heaved as he struggled to catch his breath.

A witch. Cardinal Richelieu was a witch.

Simultaneously, Kol was overcome with surprise and jealousy at the revelation. Quite suddenly, his lust for his extinct magical powers rendered him breathless, and a bitter laugh left him.

“A man of God: a witch?” he snapped bitterly, his hands dropping to his sides as he climbed back to his feet. “How does God feel about that?”

Richelieu didn’t smile. “A demon like you would have no idea how God feels,” he answered smoothly, an answer that wasn’t really an answer.

“Something tells me neither would you,” Kol countered instantly.

With a flick of his wrist, the cardinal thrust him hard against the stone wall, breaking at least two of his ribs from the force. 

“I’m unsure why your family foolishly chose to come here - Was it for power? Money? Something as mundane as fame? - but I won’t have you interfere.”

Kol choked against the man’s throttling magical hold.

“Interfere… with… what?” he strained, his neck muscles bulging as his body struggled in vain against the magic.

The cardinal smiled. When he dropped his hand to his side, Kol plummeted to the floor and landed in a heap with a groan of pain. Turning to his companion, Richelieu released a soft, bored sigh.

“Feed him: just enough that he won’t wither away but not enough that he could overpower you,” he ordered evenly.

The black-haired beauty, who’d remained silent throughout the confrontation, merely nodded her head. He stepped back beside her, reaching up to gently trace his knuckles down the side of her face. She stiffened, but expertly controlled her reaction to the touch and turned her gaze up to stare him down. Malice simmered beneath the surface of that beautiful face, but her posture was deceptively easy as she met the cardinal’s gaze. She gave him a soft smile laced with poison. 

“Yes, Your Eminence,” she replied silkily, her fists imperceptibly balling within the ripples of her skirt. As he watched her, Kol noticed it, noticed how her entire body rebelled against the closeness of the cardinal, but Richelieu appeared unaware. His pupils had dilated, and he dipped his head toward her until his lips hovered near her neck. He exhaled wantonly, and she lifted her chin, seemingly to allow him purchase. 

On the contrary, as she did so, she met Kol’s gaze and held it, her eyes burning with a hatred he knew she wouldn’t explain even if he asked her. A silent understanding passed between them before she closed her eyes and coyly mastered a smile as the cardinal rose to his full height and raked his eyes around the curve of her bodice. His gaze lingered on the cleft of her breasts, and he smiled ever so slightly before he stood to cast a dismissive glance over his shoulder at Kol. 

“Bon nuit, musketeer,” he spat the words levelly before departing from the hallway.

Silence fell as the slippered footsteps of the cardinal disappeared down the corridor, a silence in which Kol and his beautiful captor stared wordlessly into each other’s eyes. Finally, when Richelieu was long departed, she took a step toward the bars. 

“Milady de Winter.” She lifted her chin slightly so she could still eye him without fear as he stepped toward the bars. “I’ve gone by many names, and none remember the name I was given at birth. I’m known as Milady now. That is what you may call me.”

Kol cocked his head slightly as her pale blue eyes pinned him. “Why do you choose now to tell me this?”

Milady was silent for a long moment, her expression giving absolutely nothing away. Not even her emotions.

“There is strength in a name... in knowing someone’s name.” She blinked, the tilting of her head too predatory to be casual. 

She stepped away from the cell after a moment. “I’ll get you some fresh blood… Kol,” she stressed his name, her voice so low it purred across his bones. She turned her back on him and headed toward the exit at the end of the corridor. 

Still standing where he could see her until the last inch of her satin dress rustled noisily away, he smirked to himself and backed away, rubbing his temple with his fingers as he settled down into the moldy hay. It seemed the cardinal’s sinister game had just taken a twist, and he would use it to his advantage.


End file.
